


The Ego and The Id

by MissBlueEyes



Category: The Care and Feeding of Magical Creatures
Genre: 1980s, BDSM, Daddy Kink, Demon Sex, Demons, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Freudian Elements, Hypnotism, Kink Negotiation, Los Angeles, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Divorce, Sex, Sex Magic, Sexual Fantasy, Succubi & Incubi, The Care and Feeding of Magical Creatures - Freeform, Therapy, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22461814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBlueEyes/pseuds/MissBlueEyes
Summary: Cheryl has it all: the divorce, the job she hates, the kids she never talks to, the house in LA that's too big for just her. It's time for a change, but when The Professor--the hottest dom in the dungeon--asks for her by name, the change she makes will blow both their minds, reveal the secret of his true nature, and start a revolution that might change the world...
Kudos: 13





	The Ego and The Id

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledgements:
> 
> Too many to list, but especially my editors and proofreaders:
> 
> \- GCU Frictional Coefficient  
> \- Aeodyn  
> \- Subrosian_Smithy

_One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious. -- C. G. Jung_
    
    
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    B_u_l_l_e_t_i_n________B_o_a_r_d_______S_y_s_t_e_m  

Another day, another wrinkle, another breakup. She swiped at the collar, violent, sending it caroming from where it had lain on the vanity to vanish somewhere in the mess that had piled in her bedroom as her life had unraveled, year over year, piece by piece. It was a cliché, how the worst part of a breakup was finding his stuff everywhere, but the collar somehow summed everything up: he hadn't even cared enough to take it back. He just let the whole thing...fade away. She'd found pounds and lines and he'd lost interest.

And then the familiar little mental track, feeling guilty for missing him while just being glad Ron was gone and then remembering how relieved Ron had looked when she handed him the papers and feeling rejected even though she was the one pulling the trigger.

Even handing Him a key and telling him things were finally settled with her ex and her youngest was finally gone to college and she lived alone now and to make himself at home in her house and in her bed and in her, any time of the day or night, hadn't changed anything. Hadn't he harassed her about this for years, annoyed with the limits her children and crumbling marriage placed on her life? Hadn't he been waiting for this moment? He'd so easily made the excuse when it was...

Enough, Cheryl. You're getting too old for this weepy shit.

Cheryl. Not even her real name, she'd picked it out at the beginning of all this madness because it sounded sexy, like something a stripper or a pornstar would have. After twenty years of little league and PTA meetings and custody agreements and all the other stupid trivial fucking claw-her-eyes out suburban clichés she thought she could stand to feel like a pornstar now and then.

And then she'd gone to that first play party. She was younger, then, not even forty (well, not by much, but not forty), good-looking though she hadn't known it at the time. Coming to terms with the idea that her fantasies were not only not diseased but possible to carry out had come more as a relief than anything else, but watching that pretty little sub gleefully tear her clothes off right in the middle of the dungeon when ordered to strip had frozen her to the bone. She knew, all at once in that moment, that she'd never in a hundred years be able to do that, even be able to do like the sheepish and reluctant subs who made a show of how shy they were.

It hadn't turned out to be as much of an impediment as she'd thought that night. As a (relatively) young new sub she got plenty of attention, clothes or not. The issue had been _keeping_ the attention, something she hadn't really noticed until Ron had left and she was forced to admit that the crater his departure revealed had been there for years, and that bouncing from one interested party to the next like Angelique did wasn't filling it, hadn't been. Since before the kids, maybe, they'd just been a hole in the ground. Had they had kids to save the marriage? How fucking cliché would that be?

Jangling from another room, the phone ringing. Tears in her eyes as she realized she was dashing for it, desperate to talk to _someone_ , even if it ended up being Ron's lawyer or some shit.

"H...ello." No. Not going cry to a stranger.

"Omigodgetyourassdownhererightnow." Angelique, hissing a stage-whisper into the other end. Crackly line, unmistakable background noise: Angelique would be leaning against the doorframe into the main playspace so she could watch while she talked, pulling the phone's cord to its limit so that the line popped and crunched like an old movie.

"I'm not in the mood."

El Dorado, only dungeon in the country with its own private - for L.A. values of private - stretch of beach. Probably - it wasn't like you could exactly go look up 'Dungeon' in the Yellow Pages and find out. The building itself was totally a freestanding horror movie basement and the name was probably vaguely racist and she probably should have been offended or whatever - Cheryl was, theoretically, Spanish, although her parents had never done anything with it other than have the last name 'Vasquez'. She could understand: you got sick of trying to explain to people that you were from Spain, not Central America without sounding like you were about to invite them to join the Klan. She'd finally given up and let everyone think she was the world's only blonde Latina, but she wasn't sure that wasn't somehow racist too.

"Well then fucking _get_ in the mood, because that hot Professor guy is asking about you."

She clutched the handset, looking through the kitchen wall with unfocused eyes, and Angelique reliably mistook her silence as a request for more words.

Cheryl sighed and mediated on the calendar as Angelique droned. She'd stuck a post-it with some inane thing on it over the year so it looked like it said "1980" with a square yellow zero, and now she just felt like she was trying to hide from herself the number of years since it the failure of her marriage had been officially recognized by the state of California.  


"The one with Zee Acczent? Did that insane hypnosis demo a few months back where you spent the entire class checking out his ass? You know he's who painted the weird religious porn they've had up around here lately?" Angelique was a sweetheart, but you never could really tell if she was asking a question or just a being valley girl. That eroticised oil paintings of the Jungian archetypes done up as Tarot cards counted as "weird religious porn" didn't improve things.

 _The Professor_. That was actually his scene name, if you could believe. And yet he completely didn't come across as one of _those_ doms. He was just...strong. And Angelique swore the no-touch orgasm he'd given her at the demo was the real deal...although it _was_ Angelique, you probably could have just left her sitting up there on the stage and she'd have come from everyone looking at her after a while.

"I'm serious, girl. He told me he was 'disappointed at your abzence of late' so I said it his lucky night because you were on your way. Now get your ass down here because I am not going to be the chick who let her girlfriend miss a hookup with Mr. Darcy's dorkyhot older brother." Quieter whispering: "And he's fucking loaded, I can smell it. I dunno what he does out in the real world but it must be like shrink to the stars or some shit."

The worst of it was not even being able to sulk properly. Even before the totally-accurate Mr. Darcy joke she'd known she was going to go, just because somebody was interested. He didn't need to be rich, or smart, or even hot, just as long as he was actually interested in her. That always had been the problem with her. It made being single...bad.

* * *

His accent wasn't nearly what Angelique made it sound like, just a subtly-intellectual Germanic edge like he was the ghost of Freud stereotypes present or something, and she realized with embarrassment as she entered that Angelique's descriptions had made it grow to comic proportions in her mind in the months since she'd been to the club:

"...misunderstand. Ze question is not one of power, but of logic: were you to ask me to do such a thing to you, even could I remake your mind with a snap of fingers, iit would not matter, for your request would show that there were nothing to do. And against your wishes, vell, this is not within the nature of hypnosis."

The Professor was answering tiredly, and it was obvious enough what Angelique's question must have been, and why. Good lord, woman, just admit it to yourself. Even I owned up to this one.

She must have maneuvered them to be waiting for her in the entry. Why wasn't she off playing? She was wrapped in her aftercare blanket, and probably only her aftercare blanket, this being Angelique...

Angelique, being Angelique. Argh. "So, what's really up?" Should she be worried, or just pissed?

"Fucking Ted's not up, that's what. Two hours late! Two hours late he calls with some lame excuse about the kids he totally doesn't have! Fucker told me to be naked when he got here, too. Ugh. I told him..."

Flavor of the week, and attendant drama. Sigh. Where did she dig these guys up?

Someone reaching for her hand like to shake - the Professor. She took it, shaking herself out of the annoyance so as not to look bitchy, and he responded by kissing the back like he really _was_ Mr. Darcy's older brother. "What is the word? Ah. 'Enchante'."

Seriously? Enchante. Nobody actually _says_ 'Enchante'. Romance novels have stupid little jokes where somebody says 'Enchante' so that the protagonist can rant about how nobody actually says 'Enchante'. 

"...hi." Fuck. Cutely awkward, could she spin this as cutely awkward? That one always worked pretty good for her. Smile. Half giggle.

It seemed to mostly work, maybe, she was distracted. This wasn't the first time they'd met, they'd ended up orbiting Angelique for a little while after the demo all those months ago as one does, and it'd been the same then, too. Thinking around this guy was kind of hard, he was so hot. The new wrinkle was getting close enough to smell him - he had this cologne (there was no way it was just how he smelled) that was like fresh cigars and old books and leather and got into your head and made you feel all...yeah. And her hand felt like it was on fire when he kissed it. The dude was a sex god, what did he want with her?

"It is a pleasure to see you again. May ve speak privately? Angelique, please excuse us."

"Yeah, sure." A glance as they passed into the lounge told her Angelique was mainly still trying to figure out how someone had managed to talk over her.

"Your friend's distress, I am sure, is to be short lived."

"It always is."

He laughed, a short clipped chuckle pronounced like a word. "Unlike yours, I am told."

* * *

A corner of the lounge, private, he hoped, from prying ears, but public enough to make her feel safe. Simple observation, her shifting eyes, off-axis body language during small-talk, told him it would be best to launch directly in.

"I wish to propose an exchange. May I have your agreement to hear out the totality of this exchange, before you judge it or me?"

She was, without using his abilities, difficult to read. After being the victim of so much subterfuge and social nicety, he judged that the direct approach, with the benefits for both parties laid on the table bald and clear, would be best, but still there was the risk of offense at this stage.

"Before I continue I must note the sad state of affairs in our world that gives me reason to preface this by pointing out that I am entirely aware that neither of has interest in exchanging money with the other."

Narrowed eyes, an appraising expression that made him wonder for a moment - just a moment - if he were the one in the analyst's couch. "Okay. I'm listening, but that's it."

"That is all I ask." One stage down, offense so far withheld. The next step was a far trickier risk: even without his lifetime of training, her friend's use of her through little insults and deprecations as a crutch against her own anxiety in the facing of age was obvious enough, as was the community's resulting acceptance of the idea that she was past her prime. It saddened him to see how easily she accepted this role, assenting so readily to the confirmation of her insecurities. She was not, in fact, so far advanced in age or degraded in appearance as this, though had she been it would of course have mattered little to him. The relevant question, and attendant gamble, was whether to begin with the nature of his request or his reason for it: her state of self-esteem would prevent her from hearing his proposal clearly, but in which direction?

Unanswerable. He flipped a mental coin. "You and I, each of us suffers from the privation of certain needs, sexual and emotional. In a similar vein, each of us suffers a certain jadedness regarding the usual indirect and manipulative methods by which we are expected to meet these needs, with an attendant unwillingness to extend ourselves in the ways necessary to such methods."

"We each, I believe, have the power to meet these needs in each other. Thus, my proposition is simple: we meet here, regularly."

Another mental coin to flip: his contribution, first, or hers?

"I am an expert not only in mesmerism--" Drat. Foolish error, using the correct name. He smoothed over the hitch in his voice. Maddening how his training did little for him here but tell him exactly _why_ he felt so nervous. "--but in psychology and the ways of the heart. My part of the exchange is to listen to you, and provide the best support and advice I can. I pledge that this will be entirely for your benefit and wholly focused on you and your issues, that I will never turn these conversations to myself or my experiences as I suspect typically happens to you - I receive my emotional support elsewhere and will not seek it from you, actively or passively. For your part, you will provide a sexual favor of my choosing from within limits set by yourself. Whether we speak or fornicate first will, each time, be your choice and I will of course without fail abide by the norms of respect for your consent and safety. This we shall continue until either of us no longer wishes."

No reaction, so far - she was keeping that end of the bargain, studiously, as he'd expected.

"That is the whole of it. You may of course take time to consider, and ask any questions that occur to you."

* * *

Sex for therapy. She hand to hand it to him, you couldn't really boil things down much more than that, and you couldn't make it much more fucked up, either. But coming to _her_ with this deal, well, that was a masterpiece. It wasn't like she didn't have the money or time for a therapist, and he could walk into any club in LA and walk out five minutes later on the way to be the center of a threesome, but all her problems...well, she was here, right? They'd lock her away and make a 20/20 special about her if she told a therapist half of what she'd been through and how she actually felt about it. She wasn't so far down the hole that she believed she was sick for being here, but even so, her kinks were...kind of not ok. There was a reason she wasn't going to be able to get help halfway up some downtown highrise, and it was the same reason he wasn't likely to find what he was looking for hanging around the back alleys of those same places. You had your prom-night roleplay, and then you had...her.

And if something should go down between them? He was a therapist for real, she was sure of that. And they were doing _this_. If their destruction got any more mutually assured, there'd be a special report about it on CNN.

So simple, so perfect. Someone she could _actually_ talk to, and someone he could actually ask for what he wanted from without getting the cops called on himself. This was the part where she was supposed to be disgusted with him because of that, but that meant she had to be disgusted with herself to exactly the same degree and she'd gotten bored of that game, rightly or wrongly, a couple of doms ago.

What was the catch? How could this go wrong? He could refuse to...what? Put out? Heh. Refuse to put out after she had. He could be a terrible therapist. He could just vanish one day. He could turn out to be a rapist, but that'd be hard to carry off in the middle of the dungeon, which is where he'd suggested meeting.

It couldn't get weird, he couldn't just passive-aggressively fade away or ignore her or leave her wondering if she even had a dom at the moment, there wasn't room in the setup for that. Hell, the worst thing that could happen was she'd end up with a specific reason to avoid this place, which maybe wasn't actually a bad thing. What else? What else could go wrong?

"What if I get a boyfriend?" Yeah right, but that wasn't the point.

"Then you have a boyfriend. I make no claim of ownership in this agreement, nor will I accept any from you. I require that we both act safely, of course, but that is all. Any claim of ownership on you from another is of course between yourself and them."

If they were both using each other, did that make it okay? She supposed she'd kind of given up caring about that sort of thing when she'd walked through the door of this place. Okay, then was her theory right?

"And you're picking me because you're into 'kids'. Quote-unquote."

"To the precise, detailed extent that you are a child. Well spotted."

She already knew, her first question for their first 'session' was going to be what, exactly, the fuck was up with her and this kink.

* * *

The important thing about kinks, apparently, was to find healthy and consensual ways of working them out, which was what the two of them were doing. Where they came from tended to be unanswerable.

Anyway, you often got unexpected stuff, like the fact that he didn't even like to _see_ actual kids - the whole point of her was that she could cross the wires and find the part of herself that never stopped being fourteen without losing the world-wise self that was...a much older age...which was what he actually wanted.

As for the sex part, well, that was just straight up too good to be true. It's not like she'd thought it'd be a chore at any point in this, but she _had_ been dreading getting fucked in the middle of the dungeon pretty badly. She'd set the max at oral for now when they talked limits, figuring she could manage to psych herself up to it if she kept a flask in her purse...

And then all he'd wanted was to have her put her hair in pigtails and make out. She'd brought a couple of possible outfits to wear, but he had wanted the too-big frilly sundress she'd used as street clothes and thereby triggered a minor existential crisis after she'd gotten home that night wherein she'd kept herself up all night looking through her wardrobe realizing how childish most of it was.

And then they'd kissed - no herpes in evidence and thank god only men could get that new AIDS thing that was going around - they'd kissed and the world had come to an end. People didn't taste like him. Kissing didn't feel like him. It wasn't the fact that he really was a sex god, hiding a perfect chiseled body (as far as her groping fingers could tell) totally out of keeping with the age in his eyes under the tweed suit that had no right to look as good on him as it did, or the way he could take her to...what did you even call it? That place where she kind of forgot she _wasn't_ a fourteen year old having a super-bad makeout session with her hot teacher, he could get her there with a few words. It wasn't even that he was a military-grade amazing kisser, though he was, or the way she felt enjoyed instead of just used when he felt her up.

No, what really fucked her was the impossible shit. She'd gotten psyched up to like giving her side of the bargain more than she wanted to, but then he'd gone and violated the laws of physics. His cologne, he _tasted_ like it, but not, more...warm, fuck it, what does a kiss actually taste like anyway. And there was something in it, something like...it was like the Chi thing from kung-fu movies, energy inside her, except, not bullshit. And it made her _horny_. She'd actually seriously considered slipping a hand up her sundress right there in the middle of El Dorado's lounge (no panties had, inevitably, been his one single outfit request before they started playing) and had spent the whole drive home with one hand up there, finally managing to cum after she was safely in her garage.

Wildly not her. Some kind of drug? It'd have had to be in his mouth, which would have hit him, too, right? Had he been hypnotizing her somehow? She asked, the next week. No, and he would never do so without consent, although he was willing to discuss making that part of their arrangement if she wanted to try it, it had both healing and recreational uses.

Oh hell yes she'd gone back. They'd talked a little about other stuff, not just kinks, and already he had her seeing stuff in a new light. Angelique, for one. Where was she, in that friendship, other than playing support system? She could do better, especially if she wasn't constantly playing audience for Angelique. So the therapy wasn't bad, either. And surely she must just be blowing the other stuff out of proportion, right? He said the taste thing was a thing he got a lot, an effect of his strict diet combined with his habit of wearing a bit of his scent - a mix he made himself, apparently - in his beard. The weird energy feeling thing, well, wasn't it perfectly natural to experience her sensations more in a context where she felt truly safe? At times such strong emotions can take on a feeling of physicality. He was ecstatic, he said, to hear that she enjoyed her side of the bargain so, and he certainly was finding a 'zertain satisfaction' in his.

Sure, he could be lying about the hypnosis part, but she'd gone to the library, a couple of libraries, and all the books they had said you couldn't sneak it up on somebody like that. He was cool, but she was pretty sure he wasn't smarter than the entire American Psychological Association.

* * *

It really helped, too, this wasn't just really complicated roleplay. She'd had no idea how much older being depressed could make you look, but every morning in the mirror it seemed like she looked younger. It wasn't some kind of magic, but it wasn't nothing, either, having his help dealing with Ron, and the kids, and realizing how much of a vampire Angelique had been, and like a zillion other little things. Their deal was crazy and fucked up and yet every week she came away from it feeling a little better than when she'd gone in.

She swore a couple of wrinkles straight up disappeared from her face, but that was probably wishful thinking. Though, she'd been carded twice this month, more than the entire time since the kids were born.

Regular makeouts, each one followed by a sleepless night with the plug-in vibe she'd had to buy when it looked like the clerk at Radio Shack had started to figure out where all those AAs and then D-cells were going, didn't hurt either. She was starting to remember why she'd been such a slut in highschool, guys would actually give you this then, except now she didn't have to wonder if her mom or dad were going to barge in to 'check' on her while she played with herself after getting back from a date. And then she'd wake up feeling amazing, light and bouncy like she wasn't even sure she'd even been in highschool (but then, boys had been about the only good thing about highschool, and them not most of the time).

She'd even managed to cum a couple of times, there in the dungeon. Privately, quietly, her climax mouthed silently into his, his fingers under her skirt hidden by the way they were embracing, but she'd done it and _enjoyed_ it.

* * *

Well. It's pretty long, that river in Egypt, but it's got an end and eventually you notice that you've kinda drifted out into the ocean.

Things got unavoidable the day after that first blowjob. Fuck that day, the best day of her life.

If he'd been letting her off with just makeouts so that she'd actually _ask_ to suck him off, well, it'd worked. Didn't he want to know how good she was? It's not like she hadn't been thinking about it - she'd felt whatever he had in his pants lots of times - but still, she couldn't believe herself when the words fell out of her mouth at the end of their latest session, because now she was going to have to suck him off there in front of everyone. 

She could have at least gone to a handjob first or something, couldn't she?

She'd almost asked him to hypnotize her to think they were alone, but something bloody-minded had taken hold in her and she decided she was going to do this clear-headed and without any help, just to prove she could, because fuck it. 

They _had_ been fooling around with mind-stuff a little, she'd talked about her freakout at the first play party and he'd pointed out that exhibitionism was just one more kink and not some kind of moral good and there was nothing wrong with her if she wasn't into it...and then she'd surprised them both by saying that she wished she had the balls to try it for reals, just once.

Of course he'd had a solution, a riskless way for her to experiment with the feeling - he'd hypnotized her so that when she curled her left pinky in real tight to touch the pinky-ring she always wore, her clothes would just be _gone_. Not really of, course, but god _damn_ the illusion was convincing. She nearly screamed when he woke her out of the trance - weirdly, she remembered every bit of the trance, but apparently that was normal - and she tried it out and felt the cold breeze of the lounge's air conditioner on her nipples, the sticky leather chair under her bare ass. Somehow she'd assumed the illusion would be purely visual, but oh _hell_ no, this was the full deal. It wasn't perfect, it got a little weird the first time she tried it in the car because she had no idea what the car seat was supposed to feel like against her ass...so she'd pulled in the garage and sat there naked and figured it out.

She still wasn't sure why she'd done that. Curiosity killed the cat, she supposed. In any case, it was the same impulse as the one that now made her curl in her pinky as she knelt down between his knees in that dark corner of the lounge. A part of her wished Viktor could see what she did when she faux-stripped, just him. Not that his view down her cleavage would be bad - she was in that same sundress from their first session, having figured out that that sort of thing was his favorite, and without a bra it might as well not exist when she bent forward. But.

She should have known, of course. She should have known that if making out with this guy was trouble then going down on him was going to be some kind of religious experience or something. He'd practically made her sign a contract saying she was okay with sucking him off bareback, he thought he was clean but of course she shouldn't take his word for it, blah blah. She did spend a good while inspecting him looking for trouble after he'd unzipped, under the guise of being worshipful. She'd found trouble, but only the sexy kind: he was hung like a horse, and perfect, his dick apparently having no more got the memo that he was supposed to be somewhere north of 60 than the rest of his body. Uncut, her first, because of course she needed something new to figure out when she was already nervous.

And again with the smell. Did he mix up different mixes for different parts of his body? It sure seemed like it...and then the taste. Oh god, the taste. If this was the diet again he could make millions off it. Hell, maybe he already had, it'd explain how all his stuff was so nice. It was like...cock came in a lot of different tastes and some of them were alright but this was like going down on some horny teenager's fantasy of what finally getting to give someone a blowjob would be like, related to his scent but different, less atmospheric and more...almost like some kind of dessert, as if "old school masculine" could be turned into a food. She'd been planning to show off her skills, but when she felt him tensing up to cum she realized she'd been busy the whole time just trying to taste as much of him as she could, as if she really could eat his dick.

Well, there was one part she could show off, which was that her gag reflex hadn't been seen in years. He was tensing up, ready with a towel.

Oh hell no, mister. You do _not_ get to be the most civilized person in the room while getting sucked off. Just have to play it innocent up to the end, keep looking all over for that taste oh fuck precum making her clit burn like some kind of liquid orgasm fuck it may as well slide a hand up the dress she definitely wasn't wearing and three, two...one... _grab_.

Even for someone might have maybe been using a dildo to stay in practice in the meantime swallowing him all the way was a project and she actually had to shift around to make the path straight enough. She was gonna have a sore throat the next day, but sometimes sacrifices must be made and his expression as her body tried to swallow him all the way down was worth a firstborn or so, for sure. Weirdly, he'd actually struggled, trying not to let her swallow him, but only for an instant, before giving in and letting her, stroking her hair and then just gripping it as he came, quiet and intense like everything else about him.

So worth it.

Until he'd started to get soft - he stayed hard, after, for a long, long, time, but she'd stuck with it, almost like a game of chicken, seeing if he'd lose his boner before she ran out of air - until he'd started to get soft and withdraw, and there'd been a bit of cum that'd trailed through her mouth, and then she'd nearly cried realizing what she could have tasted.

He couldn't be human. No one had cum like this, no matter _what_ they ate. Tasting it had practically made _her_ cum, probably would have if it hadn't made her freak out to feel it happening. The taste itself, it was...it was the next thing after the way licking his cock that first time had tasted. You couldn't actually put words to it.

He'd been really nice afterwards, even giving her a sweet little kiss on the lips as he pulled her properly into his lap. He'd been good about aftercare, if there was the slightest need for it she got it. Tonight, though, she wanted to get home to her toys. She wanted to stay here, yeah, but she wanted to get home to her toys. It was confusing.

She wanted to get home to her toys and she wanted to keep her pinky curled the whole way until she got home and was actually naked. Could she manage to undress from clothes she thought weren't there? Should be fun.

Good god so horny.

* * *

He'd stopped her on the way out with a touch on her arm: "I'm aware that tonight was a significant personal step for you. Please, if you feel the need in the next few days, if you wish to discuss anything or simply feel distressed, contact me. Messages left for me here will always reach me quickly."

Yes yes subdrop checking in she did know how BDSM worked. Something had been up, though, and she wondered in between thoughts of getting safe in the car (which had become Mr. AA's new home, for those drives that followed a particularly interesting session, or suffered excessive traffic) if he'd been asking on his own behalf as much as hers. Was he worried he'd pushed her or something? Did she do something wrong making him let her swallow?

She was still horny and still a slippery mess under her dress - no point putting panties back on the state she was in - but even in the car she couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been worried about something under all his blowjob-gratitude. Well, Viktor was a big boy and could take care of himself, that was the point of Viktor. Right now, she needed to get home and take care of _herself_ , because Mr. AA was _not_ getting the job done.

* * *

You _could_ take off clothes you didn't believe you were wearing. She thought. She hadn't put the bra back on either, so all she'd had to deal with was the sundress, which was now - she wasn't quite sure, since in her opinion it didn't exist right now - in her hands being carried to the hamper, which was then closed and closed into the closet that was its home, and then she bounded into the center of her bed on her knees and let the ring go, and nothing changed.

Including the bareness of her feet. Oops. She hoped Viktor would keep an eye on her shoes until next week.

Well. That was just more evidence that she'd _actually_ been naked the whole way home, right?

Oh god. Where was the big vibe, where was a clean dildo, she was dripping on the bed, she needed to cum, she was gonna cum the moment any toy touched her and then she was gonna keep getting off until the sun came up and then she was gonna see if she could call in sick without Maggie cluing in that she was playing with herself while she called in and balls to being out of PTO and then she was gonna stay here until she was so....oh god...

* * *

Warm daylight on her bare hip, soggy mattress under her ass. Daylight...but it wasn't Saturday, Saturday was the only time she saw the sun at this a...FUCK.

MOTHERFUCKING FUCK. How late was she? Fucking late. No time to call in, no time for anything, just go. She would have blown off showering if it wouldn't have made it plenty obvious _why_ she'd been late and as it was she wasn't sure any water managed to touch her anyway, out of the shower and into a desultory...dammit, worn out bra.

That one too, fucking hell this was not the time to find out she needed to clean out her lingerie collection. Finally, one that fit. Mostly. It hurt like a bitch, the cups were totally out of shape and it cut into her back all weird but time was ticking and...

Calmly, coldly, she dropped the blouse to the floor and called in sick to work. She must have been doing her ice queen thing, Maggie didn't even make her standard joke about Tequilitis.

And then she stood in front of that damned vanity and tried on every article of clothing she owned. And this had been a terrible idea, because the room still smelled like her cunt from last night - she always had a lot of smell, so embarrassing and yet every guy she fucked at least _looked_ like he wanted to go down on her so there must have been something good about it - and Viktor, his scent that had somehow clung to her, in her hair or something, she hadn't washed it and so it was still following her, making her think of last night.

And it had been a terrible idea because she'd grown up with this vanity, it had be hers even when she was a kid, there were even unicorn stickers hiding stuck on the back corner, and she remembered it way too well.

Viktor. She needed him so much right now, not to fuck, well, that would be fine, but needed him here to explain what the fuck was going on, needed him to explain how the taut body that looked back at her from the mirror was her.

Things had been weird lately, there was no question, her bras had been no end of trouble and whatever insane hormonal thing had her masturbating herself insensible although that one was at least fun and maybe it really was just Viktor and not feeling like the relationship was about to blow up in her face any moment, but there was other stuff. Looking younger, maybe the wrinkle cream shit was just actually working somehow but that was stupid, everyone knew that stuff was just to make you feel a little hope for a few minutes every morning but that didn't explain where the stretch marks and scar from her surgery had gone, or what was getting rid of the cellulite on her legs. She'd been telling herself it was just eating better and improved health - she'd started getting fidgety at lunch hour and jogging - but you could only push that so far and that wasn't really what was...

THIS bra. This one always fit, her period didn't even make it fit weird, because it _always_ fit so bad that it never really OUCH FUCK!

Wasn't really the scary thing, the scary thing was--

ow fucking hell what happened to these jeans, they were fine before

\--was that it wasn't just bras fitting weird, something was up with her whole shape, _nothing_ had been fitting quite right. You could gain or lose cup sizes willy nilly, pregnancy had taught her that, but this wasn't...she wasn't losing weight, which pissed her off since she was pretty much living off salad, but she wasn't gaining it either, the pounds had just been...moving around. Stuff was changing that wasn't supposed to change, she swore something was different in her hips, she'd always hated her narrow hips but having walking feel weird and not being able to zip any of her pants despite her stomach looking flatter than it had since she could remember - even as a kid she'd been a round kid - that should have been good but that wasn't _right_ that wasn't how things _worked_ you couldn't jog yourself a different bone structure she must be...

The dress with all the elastic, that would...no, a disaster, completely wrong for her silhouette, hurled across the room with a snarl...anything, the old striped bra come on CLOSE GOD DAMMIT NO DON'T BREAK THE ELASTIC ISN'T THAT OLD RGH!

Nothing fit, nothing! The last time she'd felt like this, looking in this mirror at a body doing impossible stuff that bodies weren't supposed to do while she just wanted to get dressed was...oh god...

The one shirt, with the stupid buttons, she always used to imagine some hot guy tearing it open and the buttons going everywhere and making all this noise because they were huge, surely that one would FUCK WHAT THE FUCK how can a shirt be too long if you can't button it over your tits it's got to be one or the other you can't have both and and and AAAAAH!

Tears, her face screwed up with frustration, but that was good, it made it harder to see how young the teenage face that looked back at her from the mirror was.

Viktor. She needed Viktor he said to call she should call. Where was the phone? Fuck, could she remember the number? Fuck, what was it, it was written down but the address book was downstairs where the shades were open and she couldn't get dressed and and and and okay her finger remembered and a hot tear dropped on the buttons as she bleeped the number out not even knowing what the next digit was supposed to be...ringing.

Oh fuck, oh god, they were going to think she was just some kid calling, she _was_ just some kid calling, what if she got Viktor in trouble because he had a kid calling him at...

Click. Connection. Someone picking up. "Viktor!" Fuck. What if it wasn't Viktor?

Oh fuck that was a little kid's voice echoing back to her out of the phone, was that even what she'd sounded like as a teenager? Fuck, how old was she now? She had tits and hips and the vibe poking into her ass where she'd sat on it gave her happy memories but...jesus fuck how could she manage to be horny right now, the last time she could do that she was...oh god, it was all somehow turning real, some kind of fucked up punishment for the fucked up sex she'd been having...

"Cheryl?"

"I don't know!" She didn't. Oh god she didn't. Cheryl was made out of thirty years of life that was just _gone_.

"Cheryl."

* * *

What had happened? She'd obtained far more nectar at a time than he'd intended, and of the more potent type. That was known. Anything else would be speculation.

There had been a change, it had likely crystallized the smaller changes that had been taking place, and she was terrified by the result. It was unlikely she'd managed to leave her house, given the likely nature of the changes.

 _He_ was distraught. Back home, this could never happen. But how? Who had violated whom's consent last night? Could he really not simply have been honest from the start?

"Viktor I...sniffle...I'm...what's happening to me, Viktor?"

To create a nightmare was in neither his nature, nor his nectar's, and in Sade's hands any nightmare could be a dream, but the situation was fearsome nonetheless.

"There have been changes."

A weeping yes, barely intelligible.

"Are you in your home? Are you alone?"

"Yeah. Oh god, Viktor, I'm a kid, I'm not supposed to be alone I..."

Never had he so loathed the colloquial fuzziness with which the American dialect approached developmental terminology as in this moment. Her voice was regressed, but over the line what of that was biology and what was emotion was impossible to discern, let alone the total degree.

"Cheryl. I would like to visit you there. May I?"

Waking the adult when she was in this state was dangerous - if what he theorized had indeed transpired, however slight it might be he couldn't afford the risk that the very strength that had brought her safe so far in life could turn a precious and special ability into permanent dissociation, depending on what avenue for creating the change the nectar had found inside her.

"YES! Please..."

Porting would of course be the only option, and even then he'd have very little time to calm her sufficiently to drive and return here. What would the atmosphere of her home be like? Could he clear at least a room enough to do what needed to be done, before the miasma took him?

"Cheryl. Are you on the ground floor or an upper story?"

He hoped the repetition of the name that referred to a self-concept developed after the apparent point of regression would help stabilize her, or even wake the adult gently, but there was no way to tell and it was just as likely confusing her.

"Wha? Upper. Viktor please come help me, I...I'm..."

Searching his possessions, awkwardly, for the mask and belt, phone pressed against his ear, cord tangling everywhere, and for the first time in his life he cursed Earth's pitiful technology level - wireless communication pervaded this world, and yet here his...Cheryl's life was in danger for a bit of tangled wire. He'd studied the principles, even the most hamfisted stonesinger could sing the circuit, so long as they had someone to cut the crystal, and that was easy. And yet.

Ink. Circle tablet, disguised in plain view as part of his affectation for esoterica. Incense, the flavor he'd been burning persistently in the lounge for months. Scalpel. Lighter, pocketful of candles.

"What is in the room below you?"

"What?"

Undressing, equipping, redressing. What if something had happened that required nectar? If it had, the miasma would take them both.

"The room below you, is it a living room? Dining room, with a table? Something else?"

Most Earthling furniture had essentially no ontological inertia and even here in the core would simply be annihilated or knocked aside by something as heavy as himself manifesting, but he couldn't risk running into an heirloom or historic artifact in such a critical situation and there was no way to ask, so he needed an open room.

"Ki...sniffle...kitchen I think, but why does...what...snif...downstairs oh fuck Viktor I can't let you in it's all locked up and the shades are open and I can't get my clothes on..."

A pity he hadn't time to write a social commentary, there could have been an entire volume on what it meant that this was lucky for him in that American kitchens tended to be full mainly of meaningless metal.

Of course the safe option would be to port directly onto her in the traditional manner, but her state at this moment was too fragile to dare. She needed some part of her reality to remain coherent.

"Cheryl, do I have your consent to bypass the boundaries of your home?"

He was already tuning the circle, already smelling the susurration of her song, ragged with grief and fear, but there had been enough lost consent here. Earth was affecting him. This would be done properly.

"What? Yes! Get here! Please!"

In all the history of Pandemonium, no circle had ever been filled out faster or with more decision.

* * *

She hugged herself, crying into the phone, crushing the receiver into her face like she could climb through it and cling to Viktor.

She could hear him bumping around on the other end, getting ready, and it helped her chill out a little even though they weren't saying anything. She hoped she made it through the time it took him to drive or taxi or whatever to her house, right now those twenty minutes looked like eternity and anyway it didn't matter because she was going to just fall apart and die when he hung up anyway.

Was this what being a teenager felt like the first time around? There was no...strength...to fall back on, she was just soft and weak and so, so scared, but had her mind changed at all? Wasn't what was happening to her worth a pretty big freakout or so?

 _Everything_ was different. Her body felt different. Her voice wasn't right. She felt bouncier, not like bouncier tits, well, those too, but, just a little bit lighter, just a little bit...no, don't think about how big everything looks, how scary. She swung her feet, nervous, and then burst into new tears: the bed wasn't supposed to be high enough for her to swing her feet. She'd thought things had felt weird this morning, off just a little, and oh god they were everything was bigger because she was _smaller_ , not much, but enough that everything felt weird and big and she felt like a little kid.

And her thoughts, oh god. If she was smaller, that meant all the toys on the bed behind her would be _bigger_ , just a little bit. Not much, but she bet she'd totally feel it, and she couldn't stop thinking about it and how she kind of wanted to find out and how she was already naked anyway but you couldn't have that and be freaking out so instead she hugged herself tighter and then even _that_ was weird because even her _skin_ was different, tighter and softer and silkier and the worst part was how it made hugging herself feel _really good_ and really didn't help her stop thinking about...

A noise downstairs, a weird sort of thud.

"Viktor?"

Her voice came out as a tiny squeak. Louder, how would find her?

"Viktor!"

Wait, what if it wasn't him? It was him, or she'd die, those were the options.

Oh fuck, it couldn't be him, he was still on the phone, he hadn't left...the phone was dead, had gone dead with that thud.

Footsteps, coming up the stairs, oh fuck...

It was Viktor.

Somehow. It couldn't be but it was and she must be really going nuts and then she was bounding across the bed and almost falling because everything was the wrong size including her feet oh god she was going to have to learn to _walk_ all over again but somehow she got herself wrapped around him and clung on for dear life, sobbing and sobbing and sobbing, but that was okay, everything would be okay now, she was just so full of crying...

* * *

It was far worse, and far better, than he'd imagined. He had to fight being impressed with himself over the tremendous degree of change...no, this was beyond simple potency. There _must_ be an unknown factor.

He'd doffed the mask so as not to frighten her, but that meant he had minutes instead of tens of minutes. Mercifully, she'd cultivated a relatively good atmosphere in her bedroom apparently by sheer force of lust, filling the room with the energy they created during their sessions each week. Long-term survival on Earth required careful curation, but she'd gotten remarkably far by luck and it would likely save both their lives.

"Oh god, oh Viktor, what's going on? Viktor I think I'm going crazy how old am I? Am I a kid? I look in the mirror and I see a kid but I feel like I'm one too, I'm all different...I...how old am I?"

"I must inspect your naked body, or allow you to dress, in order to answer."

"I can't dress anymore and I like it when you look at me."

And the abrupt silence of one who has said more than they intend. It would save time, at least - already the miasma was crawling at him, making his eyes water around the edges of the contacts. How much heartache would have been saved if he could simply carry her out of here and into the sea? It made the homesickness ride high. But he needed her calm, and that meant she could not be pushed or dragged.

And, of course, his mission on this abyss of a planet was anything but complete.

He set her down, and inspected - he'd hoped to bring her to this point, to where she'd volunteer for this inspection from her own desire. Would that it had been another context. She'd become stunning, had been stunning at the outset and had become magical, worthy of Sade Hall, the curves she'd already had deepened, sculpted, proportions balanced, leaving her soft, curvaceous. Young, but - significantly (in degree, import, and mystery) - not the child he'd heard over the phone or that she clearly saw in the huge mirrored vanity in the corner, epicenter of a detonation of discarded clothing.

"Physically, you appear to be between eighteen and twenty years of age. It is likely, based on my knowledge of the situation, and similar cases, that your hormonal and limbic responses will be...younger." 

"I'm a kid now." Wavering voice, edge of tears, all understandable, but something confused in the tone. Curse his scientific mind, giving error bars. He'd learned through hard experience how that tended to confuse people, especially in emotional situations.

"You remain the same person you have always been. Nothing is lost."

"But I'm all...I'm all..." A glance to the bed, strewn with an admirable collection of toys. A glance to the chaos surrounding the vanity. A quickly-abandoned attempt to hug herself. "Hormonal and limbic, that's why everything's scary and I'm a slut."

He would have been surprised if her vocabulary or reasoning had regressed. It wasn't unheard of, but it didn't seem like Cheryl's way. 

He lit the incense, unprefaced, but the scent would anchor them in El Dorado, keep the miasma fractionally at bay while they traveled. She didn't seem to notice, understandably.

"The human soul grows in rings, like a tree, year over year, but unlike a tree, the latest ring need not at all times be the one which faces the world. You've experienced this with me, and I believe with others. You show a particular ring, but the others remain to you, drowsing as you feel safe. The changes that have transpired in your body extend to your nervous system, making that ability absolute. The adult you were remains, watching over you, but unconscious, as you inhabit the ring of some earlier year. Ironically, had you been in serious immediate danger - such as if you'd shattered the vanity mirror in your rage and cut yourself - it's likely that the remaining rings would have woken and you'd have found yourself using your full faculties to face the crisis."

It left out the question of why waking to such a changed body didn't trigger the same response, but the main purpose here was to calm her panic enough to remove them back to the dungeon. His jargon soothed her as it always had, giving her something she could understand and feel smart about. He wished they could go on, it would have been interesting to know how much of the nuance of her nature she could understand in her current state.

"I need now to speak with your adult self, and we have very little time. May I hypnotize so that I can wake her gently?"

* * *

She knew why she was asking. She knew why she thought he might say yes. It didn't make it any less scary. But she knew what she wanted. She didn't know much, but she knew that. She knew what she wanted and without all the complicated grownup bullshit making it hard to understand everything was so simple.

If she were still a grownup, would she agree? She would.

But it was still the scariest thing she'd ever done, and grownup her would totally agree.

"No."

"Cheryl, we..."

"I want, I want..." Just say it. "I want to stay like this and I want you to take care of me. It's your fault and you did it because you like it but I'm not mad because I like it too. I don't want to be fixed."

Time, they didn't have _time_. He steadied his voice.

It would really have helped him concentrate if she'd chosen a less appealing proposition.

"In our own tongue my people are called the Sade, the Deep Ones. It is not an idle name and I will take you so, so deep into this, but for now, we are in danger, and we must flee, and for that I need your adult self. Please."

Death before nonconsent, the slogan actually mattered down here.

* * *

No, he wasn't messing around, and something really was wrong, he looked sick. He'd never looked like this, before, he didn't even get sweaty when it was hot in the dungeon and now he looked like shit. Okay, what to do, she--

Oh. 

There was this cartoon one of her kids had watched, where the hero said the magic words and his armor or giant robot or whatever - it wasn't really animated well enough that you could tell - had come flying together from offscreen and turned him into this unstoppable badass. The image stuck in her head because they did it every single episode, but she'd just _done that_ and here she was, her same old self, the creature of ice and steel that made clients cower in their chairs when they started trying to renegotiate an already-signed contract, that kept her safe through a decade in the lifestyle, and had picked up the rock and turned the guy who tried to rape her in college into a vegetable. All the strength, all the perspective, all the wisdom, ready to figure out what exactly the fuck was going on here and get Viktor to the hospital or whatever.

Some things hadn't changed. She was still horny as fuck and still felt like a wound-up rubber band and her body still felt weird and brushing against her own skin felt way too good, but she was herself again.

Also, she was still naked, but the solution to that was obvious now: put on some fucking sweats, the whole point of sweats was that they didn't fit. Kid-her was such a drama queen, jesus christ.

* * *

How fast could you go on the 405 at midday? Pretty fast, but not too fast, she didn't even slightly look like her license anymore and however old she might feel there was definitely a fourteen year old at the wheel when she checked herself in the makeup mirror.

Makeup was going to be fun, she didn't have to be dignified anymore. Have some fun with the idea, or go mad, it wasn't much of a choice really.

Viktor was sitting there, stiff, wearing the weird mask he'd had along when he showed up in her house. How had he gotten in if he couldn't get back? A long story. He wasn't doing good, his skin was all grey and dry looking. What was wrong? Pollution, harmful to humans but deadly to his kind. Was that why the mask? Yes.

Talking seemed to help or at least take his mind off it, so she tried to keep up a chatter, but you couldn't exactly smalltalk in a situation like this.

"You're not human."

"No."

"You're not from Earth."

"Ironically, I am from Bath, England. But I am not typically a resident of Earth."

"So you're what, an English space alien?" It sounded ridiculous, but it would explain why he'd demanded to be taken to El Dorado instead of the hospital. He was always there, maybe his ship was there or something.

It was a relief to hear him laugh. How should she even be feeling right now? She couldn't manage to be pissed, or scared, or much of anything. Everything was on hold until he wasn't about to die. It helped that she could kind of see that he was pretty wigged out himself, whatever the fuck was going on it hadn't _quite_ been his plan, it wasn't just him being sick.

Also, she'd totally just demanded to be his kid. Not feeling more regret about saying that now that she was grownup-her again really threw a monkey-wrench into her thoughts.

"The lifecycle of my people is...unique. The bulk of my kind reside in an alternative reality."

She could hear the strain in his voice, he wasn't trying to be cryptic, he just couldn't do a lot of words at once.

"You did this to me. I swallowed, and this is what your cum does to humans." Somewhere in Heaven there was a Catholic some-number-of-greats-grandmother giving her the biggest 'told you so' in the history of guilt.

"Yes."

"Does it make it so I can't be upset with you?"

"No force in all the multiverse would be capable of that."

Her turn to laugh, surprisingly sardonic for her newly-young voice.

"Why. Why do...why do I like this, then?" So much for reserving judgment, letting the words out was like opening a floodgate. Glancing in the makeup mirror felt like one of those flying dreams, like she was going to fall and die for sure but with this wild elation, a knot of lightness down in her chest, something happy and free...and totally fucking terrifying.

It wasn't the change, or the apparent loss of her adult self, or any of what you'd think, that'd flipped her out so badly, standing in front of the mirror trying stuff on. It was...how much she liked the body she saw. Never mind the weird sensation of realizing that she'd totally do herself if she met herself, she'd already been at that a while really. It was the way that little light knot, a feeling like being turned on except down inside her soul instead of just between her legs, had grown a little more with each thing that didn't fit, like she was a snake sloughing off an old nasty skin and coming out all soft and sexy. It was how much she liked the rush of feeling everything like it was the first time, of feeling vulnerable and just a little out of control.

It felt amazing, but she knew what kind of world she lived in. That was why she'd grown the skin in the first place.

Mainly, though, it was that she wasn't asking if this was permanent, because the answer might be no.

Viktor finally replied: "You have become yourself."

She was afraid of that.

And so happy she could cry like a little kid.

* * *

El Dorado, thank God, had a back door, and they stumbled through, Viktor a barely-movable weight on her shoulder (was she weaker now, or was he just massive? He was absolutely _built_ under that English Professor getup), collapsing in a heap in the blackness within, and then Viktor kicked the door shut with a bang.

She wiggled out from under him. He was face down, sort of gasping, should she roll him over? He pulled at the mask, failed to get it off, she pulled it off his head and he took a long gasping breath, dry heaved, didn't bring anything up. Something was really wrong with him, his skin felt weird, dusty or crumbly or something, and his smell wasn't there.

When had she decided, really, his smell wasn't cologne? Way before today.

"I...need..." He choked, took a deep breath. "...understand my...nature." Struggled to get up, failed, reached for her, got her hand, brought it to his lips - she was kneeling by him - and licked her fingers, managing to be suggestive, just a little, despite everything, and she felt the weird too-alive sex feeling rush through her fingers, the way it always had when they touched.

His face cleared, just the tiniest fraction.

Understand his nature. Why was he trying to...oh. _Oh_.

What kind of creature isn't human and lives in a sex club - this was his home, a quick glance around made that obvious - and is so hot you want to die and has cum that turns you into a slutty teenager? Duh.

But that wasn't the important thing, that was why he didn't just come out and say it. The important thing was the he'd been into her even when she was all middle-aged and blah, because, as much as he'd clearly enjoyed it, it wasn't her body that he wanted those sexual favors for. No, the important thing now was, the fingers, and her new body's ability to _lust_ , and the dirty, dirty mind she'd been working on since highschool.

If this were a porn - and oh lordy what a setup for a porn - she would have torn off the sweats and fucked him right there, but it wasn't. She did tear off the sweats, and put her free hand between her legs so she could make a game of working her clit like his tongue on her other hand and...oh god. How did she ever leave her bed, last time she was fourteen? All that silky-feeling skin, she'd kind of uncomfortably thought that it was like the sensitivity of her outer lips had been extended to her whole body, but no, everything was just...amplified. Especially her outer lips.

And inner ones. And actual cunt entrance itself...

She already had his fingers inside her before she figured out what she was doing - apparently his hand was closer than his cock, and not behind a zipper - and for a moment she thought she'd been wrong about what kind of incubus he was because the feeling of _that_ was so powerful she almost fell down, but no, she was just that much of a slut and he was getting that much out of it. They'd slid right in because she'd been a little wet the whole time since she first jumped him in her room and then oh thank god he was doing better oh god he was up on one elbow leaning and pulling her to the floor and leaning over her on one elbow and working her cunt with two big fingers that felt so, so much bigger than the ones she'd been fooling around with for months...he was _good_ , too, working her lips and clit carefullllllyyyyyyy...oh god oh holy fuck did this new body know how to stop cumming or that there was a limit on how hard you could cum because otherwise heart attack oh GOD probably not oh well it was a good way to die--

They were laying on the floor, Viktor propped up on one elbow, she laying flat with her legs still apart, feeling soggy and spent and amazing. He looked a lot better, still kind of grey a little, but not like he was going to die, and his smell was starting to come back.

* * *

Cumming cleared her head massively, emptied her of this pink haze there'd been too much drama to notice or enjoy (it had felt good, in its way, she realized, so did feeling calm and clear but she sort of missed the haze, too, but that was okay because the haze was going to be back soon, she could already feel her body working on it).

Where _were_ they?

In the middle of an animal-skin rug, long soft fur. Fake? Not important. Apparently El Dorado had a back room, and this was it, and Viktor lived there. That part wasn't rocket science, it couldn't possibly be anyone else's room: a double bed, neatly made up with silk sheets peeking out over the embroidered comforter. A desk and chair that looked older than time itself. A ton of books, most of them in a weird language (at least the titles), all of them ancient-looking, bigass leatherbound tomes. Couple of paperbacks with Roman letters, she was too busy to see if they were in English, she just sort of assumed Viktor spoke like seventeen languages anyway. Not a lot else, but there was even more of the "weird religious porn" he'd hung around the rest of the place, put up on the walls at regular intervals almost like...

"The mask and the paintings and incense and stuff. It keeps away the pollution, but the pollution is all the horrible sex everyone is having." All the rapes and nasty degrading porn and drunk hate-sex she and Ron used to have and...ugh. If your food was what she felt when they played, what would the rest of the world smell like to you? It'd be fucking deadly.

Heh.

"Well spotted."

"Are you feeling better? We can..." She brought her legs together, so she could try out rubbing her thighs on each other. It wasn't maddening like it would have been five minutes ago, but yum. "I was gonna fuck you." She was, she had to admit, maybe a little disappointed. He _was_ still a total sex god, just...apparently kind of literally.

Although now having the moment to think about it a little more she was kind of glad she had the opportunity to ask if incubus cum could bypass your being on the pill instead of coming up with the question afterwards and worrying.

"I am no longer at the brink of death, and there is much to discuss while your head is clear."

Hot cheeks. "It's that obvious, huh."

"Like all predators, I am particularly able to smell suitable prey. Your perfume has always been a singular pleasure."

Hotter cheeks, then curiosity erasing the humiliation. "This place almost kills you, all the time. Why are you _here_? What do you want?"

And then he'd sat her on the bed (did she wish to dress? No, she liked naked. Very well, but he would not avert his eyes. Good. He'd better stare real good.) and pulled up the chair and explained everything, about succubi and incubi and where they came from and Pandemonium and miasma and all the rest of it. He offered to let her cut him so she could see him bleed ichor, help her know all this was real. No need, there was no way he was human. He explained about nectar and how it turns you into yourself, which confirmed some stuff she'd been thinking, but wasn't ready to talk about yet.

Anyway, he was clearly avoiding something. "You still haven't answered what you're doing here. Pandemonium sounds like heaven, why would you leave?"

"Vengeance."

He didn't seem like the revenge kind of guy. She said so.

"I was born in 1899, to a human man with, as I am sure you have now deduced, an obsession with a certain psychologist who was influential at the time. He took his own life upon seeing me, triggering my vigil and returning me to Pandemonium. Put more baldly, the first event of my life was the death of my perfect consort, at his own hand, in reaction to my existence. The variety of emotional responses to this is vast, and in nearly a century I have plumbed the depths of a great many, but always returning to the question of why - inevitable, I suppose, given my makeup, and it is not the way of my kind to fight or question our nature in the manner of humans."

That had knocked something loose in her too - yeah, the sadness of it, oh my god, to say nothing of the look on his face - but the thing about fighting his nature. It made some more pieces fit, stuff she'd been carrying around since...oh, about fourteen or so.

"My gestation was, as you will imagine, complex - such a person does not have a straightforward sexual fantasy life. Nonetheless, his reaction was so extreme, so violent - I will spare you the manner of his death. Suffice to say that he was so injured in soul by his suicide, that all the knowledge with which I was born of what we then on Earth called spiritism could find no trace of him, nor have I been able to since. What trauma, what variety of self-loathing, could induce such a violence against the self? It was my first coherent incarnate thought, and it has driven my study of human and demonic psychology far beyond the already deep obsession inherent in my nature."

"Understand, my kind are adapted to address the shock we cause to our hosts should we be born un-looked-for. We have instincts and knack for calming the panic our first moments of physical existence bring in such a circumstance. For this tragedy to occur, the situation must have been truly dire. I am not speaking only from bitterness to say that he was murdered, for he must have been subjected to the most stringent of conditioning and deepest of attacks on his sense of self-worth to reach a state where my appearance could not give him pause enough for my wiles to break the ice. I hesitate to say it and yet see no other option: he was prepared _against_ me, not just unprepared _for_ me, and not by his own will or my incubation shall have ended far earlier." 

"Perhaps I in another I would diagnose it as paranoid obsession brought on by developmental trauma, but it was imperative I know the cause of his death which it has never been in my power to consider merely unfortunate. Who was at fault? Shall I hate his father? His priest? An overly-rigid schoolteacher?"  


"The answer, as I have learned, is all of these, and more, and none. All had a hand, but none acted with malice or even what a reasonable person could consider to be intent or culpability. To arrive at this answer was maddening, but from its rampart I saw the void of true madness opening out below me should I reject it and seek a singular cause with a face to which I could do violence."

"Finding no person at fault, I thought to look further, to find the guilty party in in beliefs of a religion or attitudes of a culture. I found this, and horrors beyond. I have come to see the murderer of my incubator not as any one organization or empire, but the wheel of all empires, competing, ever fighting for conquest of each other, larger, stronger, more fit. My incubator's death was his reaction to my existence as the absolute proof of his failure to act properly as a cog in this great machine. The failure of his 'manhood'."

He spat the word with an expression that that bra-burning chick her mother was always disapproving of would have thought was extreme.

"One of my close friends was a keeper of great machines before she came to Pandemonium, and it is from her that I learned how I might still be avenged. Great machines seem implacable, unstoppable. To assault them with simple violence is futile, and yet, such machines are always...just a bit ad-hoc, as she put it. Functional, but only barely. A single grain of sand, in the right cog, at the right moment, may shatter empires."

"El Dorado is my grain of sand, in the city at the heart of Earth's media and pornography industries, established at the cusp of what I believe, based on the history of technology on other human-inhabited planets, to be a cultural tipping point. Earth has always had many Sade humans, and they are at long last beginning to discover each other beyond chance encounters. A tiny spark yet, but something. Perhaps it is futile, or perhaps redundant, but anything I can do to fan those flames, I will do, at any cost to myself."

As he talked, she got it: this was a really complicated revenge. The thing that mattered wasn't what he was trying to destroy, but that he was trying to change the world so that if he'd been born today, his incubator would still be alive, change the world so that this wouldn't happen to anyone else. If there was some stuff that got knocked down on the way, and if that stuff so happened to be the stuff that was responsible for what happened to him back in 1899, well, so much the better.

Maybe her response was selfish, but in the circumstances she was thinking it wasn't: "What about me?"

"You, have been far more of a succour to me than I could have anticipated. I regret the extent to which our arrangement has upended your life."

"I don't."

"I fear that you haven't..."

"I think I wanted this. I think that's why I changed so much even though I shouldn't have."

"You have bested me. How did you possibly deduce that?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense. If you'd planned this, you would've kept me here last night. And you're completely flipping out. Something happened that you didn't expect."

"Well spotted indeed."

How did it work to get turned on by getting a pat on the head for being smarter than him for once?

Pretty well, that's how it worked.

"And you still can't figure it out."

"I fear not. Your reaction to my nectar is unprecedented."

"This is who I really am."

It was funny, his whole great machine thing sounded like some kind of crazy conspiracy theory, it should have totally put her off him, but instead it did the exact opposite.

It was the thing about fighting your nature that had knocked it all loose.

It went back to Angelique, and highschool--shit always did--and a day sitting in front of that damn vanity, doing each other's hair, and Angelique's offhand comment about how she wished she could be a 'dumb happy slut like you'.

Angelique always did know _just_ what to say.

Looking back, the 'slut' part had been pretty accurate, as far as that went in junior high - she'd made out with most of the senior boys, and even a couple of the good ones in her class - and so had the happy part. She'd had a lot of fun experimenting and learning to seduce boys and it really had made her happy. She knew she was supposed to regret it and feel empty, but apparently she didn't work that way.

It was the 'dumb' part that had kind of fucked the last thirty years of her life. Now, obviously Angelique's opinion wouldn't have been enough on it's own to do anything, even at that age she'd known enough to take Angelique with a grain of salt, but all Angelique had done was take what Everyone was saying about girls like her and aim it right at her.

She wasn't sure, it'd been so long she couldn't remember the chronology well, but hadn't she gone and bought that physics AP prep book the very next day? Thirty years and she'd never connected those two things. And there was the thing of it. When were you officially Not Dumb anymore? The physics thing hadn't lasted, but the quest had. Were you officially Not a Dumb Slut after being valedictorian? After the philosophy degree? After the MBA? How many contracts did you have to win for the company? How many clients did you have to cow into accepting way over-market rates? It counted for more if you had a husband and kids at the same time, right? And were the main reason you could all afford to live anywhere even near LA?

The world had set her one bullshit challenge after another and she'd destroyed them all trying to prove herself to herself. Some things, like Ron, she hadn't even really meant to do, they'd just sort of happened, she'd conquered him too and then there'd been the kids and had he stopped caring first, or had she? 

And as Viktor had described that machine thing to her, she'd seen it. She'd been seeing it for thirty years, it had been setting her one bullshit test after another, making her jump through one hoop after another to prove she wasn't dumb and...worthless. Why 'worthless'? 'Worthless' because she didn't make a good cog, like Viktor's incubator didn't.

Her and Viktor, they had the same enemy, and she could see his point. Thirty years of life might not be the same as eternity with a perfect mate, but it was worth _something_ , right?

So she wanted revenge, too. But that wasn't the point right now.

She'd had things exactly wrong before when she'd thought Cheryl was made out of thirty years of life that were gone. 'Cheryl' was the person she'd been, that day, right that second before Angelique had bent all the world's hate for girls like her on her, and 'Cheryl' was the person she was now. It was the thirty years of bullshit that _weren't_ Cheryl, and they'd felt gone in that moment because _she wanted more than anything in the world to be rid of them_.

That was the real lesson, in the end: sometimes there's just nothing to learn. She'd taken thirty years of tests, trying to show herself how strong she was, and they'd all come to naught because it never was _proven_. There would always be one more hoop. The real test of intelligence, the real test of strength? This, right here: deciding that she could judge for herself whether she was dumb - and she wasn't - and whether she was weak - she wasn't - and choosing to get off the ride. What was so sad about it all was that, when she asked herself honestly, she knew none of the last thirty years had to happen. She could have known, then, even her fourteen year old self could have seen it, easily, if she'd really been honest with herself, if she hadn't let Angelique's voice worm into her skull. Hell, the proof right there _in_ her sexual career at the time: all that experimentation, and she hadn't gotten raped, or caught an STD, or been knocked up, or any of the other terrible punishments God was supposed to visit on you, and it hadn't been luck. She'd been smart, and careful, and resourceful. She'd done _research_.

So yes, she was a total slut. A really smart one, which was good, because as she'd been learning from Viktor sex was pretty complicated. She always had been, too, it really was true that all nectar did was turn you into yourself - all it had really done was make her the person she'd been waiting to be since that day in front of the vanity, and given her a body that could finally keep up with her mind.

And then she realized it was a body she couldn't show to anyone she'd known before and have them actually believe she was herself, and that had crystallized the whole plan in one fell swoop.

* * *

She'd explained this, all of it, to Viktor, and then what she wanted to do about it.

* * *

"You are sure about this."

She was, as sure as anything. Didn't he like her? Yes, he did. He was concerned about being able to provide for her emotional needs. Bullshit, he'd been doing fine so far. This was worlds beyond their original agreement. And? Did he mind? She didn't. So long as she understood that as regarded emotional intimacy this was to be different mainly in degree from their agreement. Her fucktoy, he therapist, got it.

This was their deal, in the end: her old life was toast, and good riddance. She was going to live with him here, and help him run El Dorado - she was good at running stuff, just ask work - so that she could get her revenge too, and make sure he had...a hot meal, heh, waiting for him every night. Giving him a blank slate sexually was easy, now that they didn't have to play in public, especially since she already knew what _his_ limits were. His side? He would take care of her, and make sure she always had a roof over her head, and nectar to eat (holy fuck that taste, who cared about food anymore?). He didn't ask for it, but she made sure that he had enough rope that he could properly become her dom if he wanted...and she figured she'd make sure he wanted, in time. And details and boring little necessary stuff and things.

And if it didn't work out, it didn't work out, and he'd take her to Pandemonium where someone like her could be happy and safe even if she spent the rest of her life in little space (which was what they called it there).

They must have been talking for hours, the haze was starting to come back by the time they'd finished. Could he really smell it? As clear and beautiful as a bright summer day. No sense hiding how she was feeling, then, right? So long as any such sharing of herself and her lust was truly freely given. Consent was sacred, as he had explained. Oh yes, she was consenting. See? Wasn't this conversation better with her straddling him? She liked it, having him see her and smell her, liked how it made him happy.

He set her back on the bed, but not without spending a minute looking into her eyes, hands on her ass as she sat in his lap. He wasn't an expressive guy, but it was pretty clear that he thought it was an absolutely amazing ass, which just made his hands there feel that much better.

"It is indeed preferable, but I have still yet to have opportunity to remove the rest of the mask."

Mask? Giggles: a chastity belt?? Yes, to function, it had to thoroughly interfere with sex, the effectiveness being proportional to the extent of interference...yes, very amusing.

Could she suck him off again, this time? She wanted to taste and she hadn't got to last time. Yes? Yay! She tried on the exclamation, felt silly blurting it, but Viktor smiled, amused at the way it didn't suit her.

The pink haze _really_ came back when he popped free of the belt, already mostly hard. Her whole body wanted to be touched, all that silky skin thrumming like it needed hands on it to hold it to her body. No time to lose, on her knees in front of him, shaft in her mouth, oh god the taste have to lick everything, but she was ready for it this time and managed to sort of give a blowjob. Experimental deep-throating? Oh, fuck. No more gag reflex, not even one she had to shush. Did that actually feel _good_? Sorta. Well, slut to the core, right?

A hand between her legs the whole time, of course, she had a plan: this time she was going to taste the whole load, and not fight it, and find out if you could cum from a taste. She just...would be prepared this time.

You could. Ooooh but you could. She'd pulled her fingers, with some effort, away from her cunt, and put his tip right in the middle of her tongue, held between that and the roof of her mouth - he was almost too big for it to work without getting him with her teeth, and _tasted_ , and cum so hard she almost fell on her ass. It made her clit, her lips, burn to be touched, so she did, and it was like a drink of clear water...

She swallowed every drop, and then they lay down in the bed together, peaceful. She fancied she could feel the cum - ahem, the nectar - inside her, working its magic.

* * *

It was time. She'd woken to Viktor's even breathing, the thrum of a city night outside, sounds of the night's play finishing up coming through the wall from the dungeon. Late enough...

Erm. Apparently actually it was time to fuck, jesus christ. Sensations - lots of new ones - sorted themselves out, and she realized that although lying on Viktor's lean, sculpted chest and smelling his smell was _awesome_ , what had actually woken her was her cunt feeling so wet she thought for a moment she'd somehow messed up her period schedule or something, but no, she was just that turned on. Was this her, or that she'd been sleeping on the arm of a creature whose main evolutionary advantage was making humans horny, or both? The pink haze had been a thing before, but now it was...yeah. She could practically see it, and every inch of her body ached to be touched.

She was also midway through climbing on top of Viktor, apparently. Fuck, could she even stop? Yes, it wasn't that she was out of control, it was just that...there were certain things that were the natural, obvious thing to do if she wasn't concentrating on it. Such as fucking Viktor before she died of not having sex. Really? Not _literally_ , she'd be okay, she could tell, but damn if it didn't feel like it.

Bigger fish to fry, though, and he was still sleeping. Things were definitely different, _way_ different this time, his arm on her felt lots heavier than when she'd gone to sleep, and her aside from somehow having become even sluttier, her body just felt...different. She wanted to see, maybe with a little bit less flipping out this time around. Climbing onto Viktor could easily enough be climbing over him, with just one dangerous moment in which it almost became fucking him. She kept it together, heh, though not without leaving him a nice little wet spot on his shirt-tails as she crawled across him, something to inspire him when he woke.

This time, she was ready for the bed to be higher (it was) and her gait to be all wrong (it was). She almost fell with the first step, stumbled with the second, then managed to actually walk. She'd been tall before, something she'd always hated - most guys already looked kind of hapless, they didn't need to also be looking up at her. It spoiled a lot of pretty faces...call her sexist, call her stereotyped, but there you were. That would at least be less of a problem now. She thought. The room was hell of bigger, anyway - that was the really weird part of getting smaller, _you_ didn't shrink, the world _grew_.

She reached the full-length dressing mirror that stood across the room from the bed, oddly angled in a corner as if the better to creep you out in the dark.

Dark. Lights? Don't make her walk all the way to the light switch way by the door, she wasn't good at walking yet. No, there, there was a lamp behind the mirror on a high shelf, in among draped ties and other such guy stuff - apparently Viktor's perfectly-arranged thing didn't just happen by magic as she'd kind of suspected. She stretched on tiptoe, fighting with the unfamiliar balance and geometry, fumbling for the switch. Even with a body he knew how to use, how was this not a pain in Viktor's ass? To say nothing of the tall fucking mirror. He was only few inches taller, even if she'd lost a couple of... _oh_.

Holy fuck.

She was tiny, she really had turned into a kid...alright, rationally. She remembered the shelf now, it had been at eye level before, now it was above her head, but not much. So she'd lost a foot? Maybe a little more? It didn't even quite take her out of the average range for women, not technically, maybe down to five foot nothing, but she felt like she'd become a doll or a mouse or something. You got used to towering over everyone, she hadn't really noticed it until was gone.

Height was just the beginning, though. For one, she could see now why Viktor kept looking at her funny today when she'd mentioned being turned into a kid - the truth was a lot more complicated. No question, getting any younger would take her into unripe-fruit territory, but she didn't look even underage as such, just...fresh. Her face was all smooth and perfect like when she'd been fourteen, some weathering or edge of age that wasn't just wrinkles was gone, but it didn't have that awkward unreadiness in the eyes teenagers tended to have, either. A little makeup and pigtails and she could totally look jailbaity, that might be fun for Viktor, but on her own now she was just kind of...ageless. Literally, if she understood about nectar right.

The whole immortality thing was kind of a doozy, she knew she wasn't processing it. You could only do so much insanity at once.

What about her body? She twisted, carefully, almost falling on limbs that weighed not even two-thirds of what they were supposed to, inspecting. She hadn't shrunk proportionally, getting shorter but not thinner as much so that her curves were more pronounced, more...well, slutty, right? No small portion of the lost mass seemed to have traveled to her boobs, but they were teenager boobs, taut and perky despite the size. It wasn't...how would you put it? It wasn't a Tuesday morning body. It also wasn't the lithe form she'd always kind of assumed was the goal, but in this moment she realized she officially one hundred percent did not give a fuck, because this looked _awesome_. She was like some kind of fertility goddess or something.

A good feeling from above her mound: she realized that she'd settled a hand there, exploring the smoothness. She stopped: if she got any lower, she'd start touching herself and she really wasn't sure she had enough of a handle on this to stop that train before the sun came up.

Deep breath. It was time to go, to get this over with.

Motion, in the mirror behind her, Viktor sitting up. He was rubbing his eyes - no, that was a contact case in his hand, he was taking out...he wore contacts _and_ glasses?

Yes, because the contacts hid the fact that he had red eyes.

Funny to think how that would have flipped her out twenty-four hours ago. Now, she was just wondering if he had a tail or whatever, too. That could be a lot of fun.

* * *

It was a very interesting drive up the 405.

They should have fucked, she should have at least let him get her off, _something_. Mr. AA was still in the glovebox, but she didn't trust herself to use a vibe on this body and drive. As it was, just wearing the sweats was a distraction - supposedly having big breasts meant having them be insensitive, and for sure Angelique did always whine about her B-cups hurting and getting pissy about princess-and-the-pea shit Cheryl wouldn't even have noticed, but now she'd gained a solid couple of cup sizes (what the fuck did that make them, like a G-cup? Jesus christ...) and yet even so the fuzzy inside of the sweatshirt had her nipples almost painfully hard, and going over bumps braless was...well, if she'd tried an experimental bounce in front of the mirror, she might still be there.  


How the fuck did that feel _good_? That wasn't how breasts were supposed to work. Apparently she had some learning to do about how impossible slut bodies worked.

* * *

The first thing to do was write the note, before she chickened out. She sat at the desk, trying to focus. 

When he'd graduated last year, her oldest had used some of his first real paycheck to buy her a home computer, Commodore something. Shoving papers had revealed it, and the memories it carried, as she dug for note-writing supplies. She'd spent one day with it after he'd given it to her, a Saturday morning working through the programming book that came with it, and learned the following:

  1. Programming a computer wasn't really as hard or inscrutable as everyone said.
  2. Mainly because it was basically the same as doing compliance on a contract with a client of slightly-above-average stupidity.
  3. This made it eye-clawingly boring.



It so perfectly typified their relationship: the gift was rich, thoughtful, and totally wrong for her (yet with a tiny spark of knowing-her in the mistake). She knew things got that way by a two-way street, same as with Ron and the other kids, so there was no rancor in seeing the computer this way.

Enough. Note. The sad thing was how easily the words came. This should have been harder, or made her cry, or something.

 _Jason, Liam, Greg,_

 _I guess you probably expected something like this eventually, but I've met a guy and moved away. It's serious and he's a good guy. Runs his own business, really stable personality, into me a lot, not afraid of commitment. Fucking rich, too. I'm trying to say I'm fine and happy, finally._

 _Sell the house, and everything in it, and split the money, one third to each of you. Don't give Ron a cent, he and I are settled and he already got his. I've already signed the deed over to you (look under this note) and this note is my legal transfer of ownership of the objects inside it to your joint custody._

Leaving it vague who got what was lazy, but she knew they wouldn't care enough to fight over anything except possibly which estate company would give better rates.

 _I was a shitty mother. I'm sorry. I can't make it up to you but maybe the money will stand in as a token of me recognizing how no amount of anything could fix things._

 _I don't expect you to, but if you want to get in touch call our answering service at 555-6934 and leave a message--hell, I might even pick up the phone if it's daytime in France or whatever._

 _Signed,_

And her legal name, the last time she would write it when not compelled by law. The almost-lie in the final paragraph also typified their relationship, but she hoped it would be a mercy, giving them the excuse to feel okay not checking up on her.

* * *

She didn't leave right away--there was something she needed to do first, something that needed proving, something she could only prove in this state, with pussyjuice running down the inside of her thigh and aching breasts and and and.

She missed Viktor's touch. Before she'd left he'd come up behind her to put a hand on her shoulder while she checked herself out in the mirror and she'd found herself arching into it, rubbing against him like a cat. She _felt_ like a cat getting petted, his touch had been...what, electric? Almost like the burning, tingling heaven of cumming, except washing over her in waves from where his skin touched hers. Amazing and she'd cooed and purred and rubbed herself into those hands, trying to get them onto the good parts of herself, and the memory of the feeling was haunting her, so intense. What in the fuck was sex going to be like? Would she even survive?

Something she needed to do, and this was the time to do it.

The computer had sat there, in the den, forgotten in favor of the paperwork from her disintegrating marriage, since then, untouched. She powered it on, blew the accumulated dust off the book that had been sitting there by the keyboard all year, and did the next exercise, and then the next.

It was tough, her thoughts slipped and slid trying to fall into Viktor's warm bed or fantasies of finally just reaching out and grabbing the perfect ass of the girl who was always in front of her at aerobics, and splitting her attention between reading each section and not just slipping her hands under the sweats slowed things down a lot, but she did just fine, if anything, it came easier than last time, she was just doing something piss-boring and difficult while impossibly horny.

And she got it, too, she could see now flipping through how the book was actually a bad programming book - the code worked, but that was it. There was no structure, it didn't communicate its intent, just glancing she could see how to rearrange things, especially with this 'GOSUB' thing from the last exercise. It might have made a computer work, but it would have got eaten for breakfast in court.

So. Definitely not getting dumber, that she could tell. This was probably still bullshit as an intelligence test, intelligence tests in general kind of smelled like bullshit to her, but she'd had to do _something_. Nectar was supposed to make your body reflect your soul, but as Viktor had pointed out that was kind of a fuzzy line for humans, people liked drugs and sex so much because your body could really seriously affect your mind, and hers sure was, and it wasn't just the sex - someone had cut her off getting onto her street, and she'd felt like she was going to die.

When she'd been fourteen the last time, she'd thought all the prohibitions against scary movies and crap had been kind of bullshit, and then she'd grown up and still thought they were kind of bullshit. Well, here she was giving it another try with the benefit of perspective, and she could tell you, adolescent bodies weren't up to this serious shit. Her first thought when she got it together again was, My Little Pony and nature documentaries only for her from now on, quickly followed by, _I might still be me, but this body is going to change me_.

So she'd needed to know: _was_ she getting dumber, too? But no, just less...callused. That was okay. That might even be good.

Things were going to be interesting when she got back to El Dorado, anyway.

* * *

She looked the room over. It still smelled like sex, or at least like her being horny.

This was the test, the test to herself: could she pull the trigger on this without flinching? She'd resolved not to look back after this point, so this was it. She would even leave her key inside, to make sure she didn't Lot's Wife out of this.

\--her toys. The way she was feeling, she almost stripped and had one last run with them, there in her bed, but that would have been exactly not the point of this exercise.

The toys were coming with, though. She hadn't planned that, but looking at them, it made sense. There was a box, a hot-pink gift box from some department store or another in which they ostensibly lived under the bed, but they never got put away, and she understood why now. Not the obvious part - what kind of slut puts down her sex toys long enough to put them away? - that one she'd known for a while, really. But they also...didn't belong, like their presence on the bed dragged it partway to some other place, made it not a part of the bullshit world of her daily life. Of course she wanted to wake up to one poking her in the side every so often. So, the toys weren't part of the house, and they were coming with, and she wasn't, she wasn't, going to get distracted.

Still, you couldn't have an object make you feel that good that often and not get some kind of association, and a few times she caught herself rubbing her thighs together and slowing down to think of what it was going to be like using them again now that they were all like twice as big as she loaded them into the massive old purse she'd dug out of the closet. Slippery thighs, think how good those were going to feel sliding around Viktor's middle when she got back--

Careful, girl, you'll make an obvious mess and then getting back to El Dorado will be way more interesting than you want. Panties might've helped a little, maybe, assuming any of hers even fit anymore, but she didn't really want to try out anything that fit tightly over her pussy until she was in a more...controlled situation. Silly, maybe, but things were _different_ , and she wasn't quite sure how she was going to react. It seemed like controlling herself took strategy now, which was, ironically, kind of a nice challenge. Maybe it wouldn't have been if she was looking at a life like the one she'd been living with clients and divorce lawyers and kids freaking out because College Is Hard, but that's why she was here, to divest of that life.

Hell, maybe it would have still been fun. Given life more of a challenge, work had been getting more boring than usual lately.

So. Packed.

The thing that really fucked with her head about this whole day was, how none of the things that were supposed to be the upsetting things, actually were. If anything, the emotional wringer had mainly consisted of meeting her real self. This, now? She just...didn't care.

Time to go.

* * *

Not a creepy cabby, mercifully. A woman even, a middle-aged leatherdyke if she was reading the flags right. She probably even knew El Dorado by name, but she still made her drop her off in front of the nightclub on the opposite side of the block. Kind of a big risk, given the neighborhood and the hour and...her...but she wanted the secret for its own sake.  


It was the longest half-block she'd ever walked, still kind of unused to her body's new shape.

* * *

The sea-breeze felt good on her bare skin where it found its way under the blanket. Taking a cab-ride to the bad part of town kind of kills a mood, but now she was safe and out of those damn sweats and watching them and the purse - emptied of the toy collection that had duly impressed Viktor - burn to ashes in a makeshift firepit on the beach, and the haze was drifting back, creeping in like the grey of dawn was starting to creep up into the skyglow behind her.

The sun rising on a new life, she'd feel like she was in a hallmark card or some shit except, well, what a new life.

 _Burn, motherfucker. Be ashes before the sun comes up._

She could tell Viktor was thinking something similar where he stood looking at the fire, hands clasped behind his back. He said the beach was protected a little by the same stuff that made the dungeon not be dangerous for him but she was still amazed how long he stayed outside with her.

Maybe he just figured he'd be getting a good meal when he did go inside. That was going to be for sure, if she had anything to say about it.

* * *

She had lots to say about it, but she didn't have to use a single word, all she had to do was let the blanket fall to the floor as soon as the door clicked shut. They were the only ones there at this hour, but she imagined the place full like there was a play party on, wondered what everyone's eyes on her newly-amazing body would feel like as she walked through to the door into Viktor's place bare-assed. She would have freaked if the people had actually been there, but as a fantasy it was kind of thrilling and when they got into his place she was thoroughly ready to let herself grab onto his shirt and try to kiss him like she'd been wanting to for way the fuck too long now--

No! Why did he stop her? She had to--huh. He wanted to hypnotize her? Oh, not hypnosis, the real thing. His people called it mesmerism. What was the difference? Mesmerism could actually read your mind, could make you do stuff you wouldn't normally do (but only if you gave consent to having your will overridden, he wasn't a rapist), could do really complicated stuff hypnotism only could in stories, and it was way easier, you didn't have to take forever with an induction. Would he permit her a small bit of mesmerism, just for this time, a bit of seasoning, as it were? Nothing permanent or dramatic.

Hell yes, but one condition: he didn't tell her what he'd done. She'd been having fun discovering the new stuff. Yes, she trusted him so absolutely, you got there after hearing someone's drama for a year and then helping them through a life-threatening situation. So how did it work? Simply look into his eyes, say yes, and relax...

* * *

She blinked, and then moaned, because his fingers were inside her and his palm was pressing the outside of her cunt and they were in his bed making out. He'd gotten rid of his pants...how did they get here? Oh. Heh. Cute. Was that all? Nothing else seemed off but then nothing else seemed like much of anything at all compared to his mouth on hers his fingers in her and oh my god he'd left her in the trance until she was about to cum or did she just take no time now well the orgasm was going to have to wait because his cock was all hot pressing into her side like one of her toys and like one of her toys it needed to be inside her even if she _was_ a little iffy on whether it would fit anymore but oh god the fingers were here now and she'd have to stop rubbing against him for a minute to get on and that was going to take some gathering of willpower, just need to...oh, wait, just ask and let him do the work, saying words was a lot easier than doing anything to make the amazing way his hands felt on her stop, even if only for a second:

"Oh please fuck me."

It came out whiny and begging, she let it, she felt whiny and begging, and she'd resolved she was going to go with this, otherwise what was the point? Fingers withdrawn pulling an involuntary whine of disappointment from her, strong hands rolling her onto her back, wait, her plan...

"No, I wanna ride, please can I ride?"

Okay, she hadn't meant that to come out _quite_ so pitiful, but whatever, it felt right. It was bizarre, it wasn't like her body was acting on its own, it was just kind of easier to let this slutty, lustful part of her have control.

"Very well."

She was still lost in just trying to get as much of the feeling of his strong, hard body against her soft little one as she could, pulling at him with hungry hands, but she did her best not to get in the way of being maneuvered on top of him, and when it was clear how it was going to work her climbing onto his hips and settling down onto his cock it didn't take a lot of self-control to make things happen oh fuck okay so that was what this new body thought of an actual dick against her lips, now would it--oh GOD.

Heart pounding, cunt pounding, yes it fit it was one hell of a tight fit but when she'd pushed she'd just fallen down plop onto his hips, cock all the way in and now there was a telephone pole or a mountain or something inside her and the way it felt going in had her about to cum, not like she wasn't before but now she could barely even see to start unbuttoning his shirt and holy hell her nipples needed touched just a couple more buttons first, she wanted to see that awesome chest she'd been petting and pawing for a year it was a little tricky getting it done because she needed to move her hips on him at the same time it just felt too good to _not_ , but fuck how deep inside did he reach, it felt like his tip was past her belly button, shouldn't that hurt, no, of course not, she wasn't built like a normal girl anymore. There, open shirt, hard strong chest looking as pretty as she'd hoped, now that she had something to look at...okay, come on hands, oh god yeah those muscles feel great but come on I promise it's gonna be worth our while whoop!

It was tricky balancing with this new body - it was mostly legs and she was used to kind of being taller above the waist as well as overall, but that just meant Viktor caught her by the sides where the warmth and strength of his hands burned and tingled like a drug and looked at her with an amused smile. Always so composed, but she could see the lust around his eyes as they fucked.

It was too tempting not to just ride for a minute, arms akimbo, like she were flying, but she did have a reason for getting her hands free: her head swam with how much she needed to cum and riding him felt amazing but it wasn't _quite_ getting her there, it never did with her but that was okay and it wasn't a surprise that despite all the other superpowers she still worked this way, because this was her. One of the very first things she'd learned about sex, once she was actually doing it, was that guys _loved_ watching you stroke yourself off with their cock inside you. Especially if you put on a good show, and oh but the show she could put on now. Just work a finger between them to get it wet it's not like pussyjuice was hard to come by and then...whoops, tricky to find her clit when it was moving and grinding and getting thrown around by his thrusting, let's try this again...nuts!

She giggled, at the little smile he wore. He could see what she was doing and throwing her around more to make it tricky. Fine then, she'd just try harder, it's not like she was inexperienced with touching herself. Again, jeez, that totally should have...wait a minute...

"St...stop...stop a sec."

He stopped and she sat there for a moment gasping, settling onto him, swearing she could feel the end of his cock in her throat it was so deep. Her hips begged her to let them move, but she held them still, though it took some doing. His expression...he wasn't moving a muscle either, but he was _up_ to something.

Okay, perfectly still, slow and careful, no way she could miss...she got a lip, and the lip was happy about it, but it wasn't her clit. Again, this time her fingers ended up sliding off into the crease between her mound and thigh.

Oh you have got to be kidding. Well, her nipples were bored as fuck, what about them? She'd heard you could cum that way, sometimes, and she bet if anyone really could it would be her now...nope. Cupping a breast felt nice, showing it off felt nicer - come on Viktor, don't you wanna feel me up while we fuck? - but it wasn't playing with a nipple.

Other breast, same thing, and the realization made her clit pound and nipples burn - she couldn't touch them, and they wanted to be touched SO BAD and so now of course that was suddenly the most important thing in the word, it took her need to cum and cranked it up so high she thought she'd break down in real actual hysterical tears about it, it...

Oh jesus fuck. It _brought out her flavor_. She was breakfast, after all.

"Bastard." But of course she was grinning a wide lopsided grin.

"You've deduced."

"Yes! Rgh!" No sense stopping her hips trying to eat him up anymore, they and her clit and cunt and every other part of her agreed wholeheartedly that he needed to be ground into her and clasped between her thighs - which seemed to be turning out to be pretty strong, judging by his surprised expression - just as tight as physically possible.

"Your...climax awaits my own, has...done since you were entranced. It...should be...considerable by now. Until then, you shall have to use whatever...is...at hand...for your pleasure."

Careful what you wish for, mister. She leaned over onto him so she could drag her poor nipples across that amazing chest and oh, damn, she was _flexible_ now, she could still get a really nice angle with her clit although she was pretty sure the way having it want to cum this bad and not be able to - he wasn't kidding about that, she could actually get the angle now if she wanted to and he was good for grinding with his lack of pubes, but the orgasm just _wouldn't come_ \- she was pretty sure if she didn't get to cum soon she was going to explode or go insane or seriously cry anyway...cry on his shoulder, heh, he was so big now she could nestle into his shoulder and kiss his amazing-smelling neck...well, better keep fucking, like that was such a burden, wait something was different in his movement his cock felt hotter that was OH FUUUUCK...

* * *

She was dead, she had to be. You couldn't survive an orgasm like that, there was no way. You couldn't even survive sex like that.

Viktor's face was a couple of inches from hers. Apparently being dead didn't stop you from wanting to kiss someone, or having your heart pound just a little when you saw they wanted to kiss you. She reached forward and took the kiss, he gave it but didn't let them fall into making out (despite her best efforts).

"Oh my god, that was insane. Did I..."

"Yes, you actually lost consciousness. You appear not to have been harmed, but I would like to perform a deeper inspection." 

He could deeply inspect her just as much as he wanted, oh baby. She took his hand and pulled it toward her still-sodden cunt where they lay together in the bed, but he caressed the top edge of her mound and withdrew. Light flashed in her eyes, for a weird moment she thought her body was just protesting not getting fingered but no the haze was...it wasn't ever going to really be gone but it was content to be in the background right now. Light flashed because he'd been doing the flashlight-in-your-eyes thing doctors do and still had the flashlight in his hand.

It was one of those smooth metal ones, about the right size. She was going to get fucked with that flashlight one of these days, she decided.

What did she remember? She remembered how hot his cum was inside her, how much there seemed to be (he was, yes, blessed with copious quantity when he wished). She remembered rattling the wall with her scream, was that for real? Yes, he had noted that as well. She was quite musical. She remembered cumming so hard she passed out, but she remembered all of the orgasm, up until it literally blew her mind.

Would she allow him to use his power to inspect her for damage? Like, read her mind? Yes. What would he read? The human mind was vast, the mind of someone as intelligent as her yet more so, he couldn't visit every room but he could wander through looking for metaphorical collapsed walls and fallen beams. It would, nonetheless, mean becoming mentally naked before him.

Bring it on.

He did.

It had been a metaphorical big sign in the metaphorical entryway, with his name on it and everything. She probably should have noticed it there before he walked in and read it, but then, you never did see this stuff until someone else did.

How _long_ had she loved him? When did it get started?

And then even that was complicated. It wasn't him, the connection was two-way and he projected something wordless that felt like "I care for you too", but...wasn't being in love supposed to make you forget everyone else? This first schmoopy part, anyway, right? And yet, and yet, there were some things she needed to do to that girl from aerobics class, and that one tasty surfer boy who was always packing up just down the beach when she'd shown up for her sessions, she could still definitely give him a wave or three to ride. And...

Viktor sort of rode along with the thoughts as she had them. Yes, the surfer boy had a certain appeal, that was a view he'd enjoyed himself many an occasion. Oh fuck, he was bi too? It totally hadn't even registered when he'd told her that his...person, his incubator was a guy. And the girl from aerobics, well. Might she indulge him in a bit of reminiscence?

She did, he appreciated. He finished inspecting, she was fine. They relived the orgasm together, which was pretty awesome because being in her head meant he could kind of pull her into a memory, make it take over her reality, especially if it was recent and vivid. It had just so overloaded her senses that her consciousness shut down, a normal defense mechanism.

Blinking. The spell was broken and they were back in his bed, eyes still locked.

He'd just been reading her mind, so it wasn't a surprise when he answered the question before she asked it. "I have known in my time many happily nymphomanaical monogamists. I think you too intelligent to miss the distinction or at this point draw such a simplistic binary between chastity and abandon, and yet, you've chosen the word 'slut' to describe yourself. You are not the sort of person to make such a choice accidentally."

A soft tender feeling that was kind of like embarrassment but not really, like having one of those naked at school dreams except the only other person there is the hot guy from Math and he just likes what he sees. It warmed her cheeks and cunt. "...yeah. Does that...will it bug you?"

It wouldn't. He'd hardly been surviving on one meal a week, for instance.

And then he'd blown her mind by sliding down the bed and opening her legs and going down on her - she had thought about it, despite herself, just for a moment while he was in her head, and he'd seen. His tongue was hot and textured and _long_ and he ate her out like she was some kind of expensive dessert he could lick up and then she _really_ got that soft tender feeling because of course she _was_ dessert, it felt like he was trying to drink her because he _was_ , and her cunt was obliging by being as wet as ever. He didn't mind his own taste?

"I do not, but sample yourself."

She ran a finger between her lips, brought it to her mouth dripping a drop beside her belly-button which he immediately and ticklishly licked off and...

Oh no no. She did _not_. She'd tasted herself once or twice in her life, just to see. It hadn't grossed her out, but it wasn't really anything, either.

Now it tasted...kind of good. Not pass-out good like Viktor's cum (which was completely gone, drunk up), but good. Sexy. Well, slut to the core, right? She took a good handful and licked it off her fingers and oh god Viktor was back at it and apparently being a slut also meant you took like no time to cum because oh fuck here we go--

* * *

She didn't pass out this time, but she did make plenty of noise. She even had enough wherewithal to notice in Viktor's affect as she clutched a handful of his hair to keep his head in place - not that he showed any sign of moving - how good her orgasms tasted to him.

What would happen to her this time, she wondered aloud in the afterglow. He didn't know. It was likely the transformation would converge and she'd stop changing at some point, but who knew when that would be? He suspected that the most violent changes were already over, but there would likely be subtle stuff.

* * *

He'd wanted to get life going that very day. She needed new clothes, what did she want? He would arrange to add facilities for preparing human food to his room (it had none, for obvious reasons). Her legal identity had the problem of being attached to someone who looked nothing like her, but he would arrange a false one, obtain for her a new car...

That would all be nice, she assured him, but not yet. She needed to get used to this new self first, and she wanted to do it right. She had some ideas about that. Don't worry about clothes yet, she wasn't planning to leave this room for a bit and...getting through a day in women's clothes was a project for normal people, and she was a million times more sensitive now. She'd stick with naked until she had a handle on dealing with this new body - and anyway, that was sluttier. Likewise, would he mind if she just lived off him for a while? He had enough nectar for that, right? Yes, and more.

Now, what she really wanted to know, was what was in all these books he had.

* * *

She had to learn the language to read it, but the books were, naturally, mostly porn. Some images, the most insane paintings and woodcuts and drawings, but mostly stories. The paperbacks turned out to be Japanese comics...of the most amazing porn. Naturally. She could see why he had them, the art style made the sex look almost...cute. It was weirdly comforting.

It wasn't like the stuff you got on VHS, it didn't leave you with the kind of sick and sad feeling a lot of that stuff did. It was...beautiful. Or just fun. Or both. Fuck, sometimes it was even profound, that was weird. Apparently a lot of it was part of the spell or whatever that kept the dungeon safe for Viktor - a way of "anchoring positive sexual energy", the same thing she'd been doing by keeping her toys always out on her bed.

As for clothes, that had been an adventure. She'd purposefully waited until they'd gotten the art salon off the ground and she'd had attended the first couple of meetings just wrapped in a blanket - part of her evil plan to set the mood. It _was_ meeting in a dungeon, after all.

Trying to get dressed again, after not wearing a stitch for weeks, in a body she never _had_ dressed, took some doing. She was right about being sensitive: there were entire fabrics that were out of the question, anything scratchy like cheap wool blankets or too rough and fuzzy like the polyester blend cheap shirts were made of felt like nails on chalkboard. Everything she wore, everything she touched even...it was kind of complicated. Soft and silky never failed, but there'd be weird exceptions that felt great, like smooth shiny rubber or the really expensive tweed stuff Viktor's suits were made of that looked like scratchy wool but was actually not.

She'd been particular about bras before, but now it was impossible. They all just hurt. Thankfully, she somehow (magic, literally, hah) didn't need the support, but there was another nail in the going-outside coffin, because it wasn't like she was one of those girls who got away braless because there was nothing to bounce around. And then underwear, well, pressure on her pussy was distracting, light as it was, and she didn't get used to it, but she could do it. Usually.

It did still end up all wet after a couple hours from the things that pressure made her think about. 

Thongs, appropriately, turned her into a drooling mess - her new shape meant the thin part would work its way between her lips while she walked and pretty soon the whole thing would be bunched up _in_ her pussy instead of over it and she would get like five more steps before she had to stop and put a hand up her skirt and of course she didn't have the self-control anymore to not masturbate once her hand was that close and she'd been walking along with something rubbing her clit, but even after she'd cum and straightened things out the whole business would start again and take less time because now she was feeling that much sluttier and in the meantime she'd feel the breeze and think about how anyone who put a hand up her skirt would just be grabbing her bare ass and...apparently she'd cum eleven times in four hours (Viktor's count, not hers, she wasn't that coherent) before she, reluctantly, gave up. He'd gotten an idea and picked up the phone to order something on the spot, much to her worry (and carried on the conversation in German, just to _really_ make her wonder).

Skirt. Tight jeans were out of the question, she was just too sensitive. Slacks were okay if she wanted to look like her grandmother, and sweats were okay if she wanted to look dumpy, but mostly she ended up with stuff like wrap dresses and flowy or short skirts. Viktor bought her a short silk bathrobe she wore when she got bored of being naked, but it was still a little skimpy for anyone but him to see her in.

Anything else was just...too much, one way or another, and most of the stuff that did work only did because she was hanging around a dungeon and could get away with not bothering about stuff like not flashing the world when she sat down in a short skirt.

She felt bad, all the stuff she made Viktor order for her to try, but he assured her money was no issue and that the amusement and titillation he got from her adventures was worth any amount of trouble, which brought more of that stupid soft blushing feeling. 

* * *

It was the porn that gave her the idea for the art salon. It helped with the miasma, right? So the more of it there was in the world, the more it would get rid of miasma, right?

Yes, if people were able to appreciate it. The books worked because he'd read them all and they were his favorites and seeing them reminded him of the stories. He did hope she'd keep up her project of learning Infernal so that she could read them, a human's appreciation was for poorly-understood reasons far better at chasing away the miasma, which was why he'd done the Jungian Tarot Erotica series - there was something for everyone, in the Archetypes, else they failed to be the Archetypes.

Well, she was gonna do even better, she was going to translate every word of this stuff into English and leave it around the lounge so people could read it. Words and her were friends, that was how she'd ended up as a paralegal, and probably why she'd had an easy time with the computer, that was a language too.

She'd have said he looked like she'd offered him free blowjobs for life, except she'd technically already _done_ that and his reaction wasn't quite the same. He was pretty stoked, though. He'd been working on that exact project--the Japanese porn was stuff he'd been working on, coaching an artist across the pond who understood the aesthetic of the--shit you not--bedtime stories he was drawing from for that series, but there was so much to do and translating Infernal was a bitch as she was soon to find out and running El Dorado wasn't exactly easy and that was without having to do it without anyone finding out that you were actually a demon.

Wait, the computer, now _there_ was an idea. Money really didn't matter? She could wear nothing but spun gold, if she so wished. She realized the stuff she'd been trying on when figuring out clothes _was_ pretty swank. Okay, then she was going to need a few computers and a whole ton of books about computers and some other stuff too. The Commodore she'd left behind had come with a long story from her oldest about these things called "Bulletin Board Systems" where people traded...stuff. He'd been cagey, she'd known exactly what he was avoiding saying. So, she needed to sneak some porn out into the world, and all she cared about was how many people read it?

Yeah, she couldn't imagine anyone really getting much out of the graphics a computer could do porn-wise (though you never knew, some people would wank to _anything,_ heh), but computers were fine at words and there wasn't just erotica, there was _information_. What if you could learn how to tie safe bondage knots, or negotiate a pick-up scene, or heaven's fuck just _what a safeword was_ , without leaving your house or knowing someone who was part of a club like El Dorado or _anything_ but having the number to a computer bulletin board where you didn't even have to use your real name?

And then she thought, why stop there? She had time, even with all the sex and masturbation (she and Viktor fucked and played - he _was_ kinky beyond the 'kid' stuff! - a couple of times a day at least, every day, and yet somehow she still found plenty of time for her own two hands. Maybe it was just the slut transformation thing, maybe it was just spending every free moment translating the most incredible porn she'd ever seen...you kind of couldn't even open those books without a hand between your legs), she had the time, and they were trying to change culture, so...

Okay really how it had gone down was that she'd thought about how art changes culture and about Art History class way the fuck back in _highschool_ and the Parisian salon scene and how she'd always wished she could be a part of it, and now she had this porn translation project and she could do with some critique, and then she imagined herself sitting in the lounge wrapped in her blanket - clothes hadn't happened yet - with a bunch of people talking about art and porn and _stuff_ and she was presiding over it like some kind of slutty Gertrude Stein, and once those three words have assembled themselves in your head, you cannot _not_ do something about them.

And so the salon had been born. Viktor started making plans before she even finished the sentence, clearly he thought it was a good idea, precisely in keeping with El Dorado's mission, _and_ it could mesh with the BBS because people could critique each others' work on the computer, _and..._

* * *

She wasn't scared to leave Viktor's room, not exactly. There was just so much to get used to, and so much to _do_ \- they were technically on a mission here - and so much sex to have, and.

And she kind of got the idea she'd become something that wouldn't do too well out in the world on Earth. Pandemonium, maybe, but not LA. She _could_ manage going out into the lounge for salons, though. She and Viktor played in the main dungeon a lot before-hours, so it was even familiar. 

Then one night Angelique swept back in, returned apparently from her sulk about being blown off in favor of Cheryl, took one look at Cheryl and Viktor sitting together in the salon-circle, narrowed her eyes, swung right around and marched out of the dungeon, never to be seen there again, and Cheryl knew they'd really never been friends: there wasn't even the slightest flicker of recognition on Ange's face.

Cheryl looked different, but if Ange had been a friend she would have recognized Cheryl's simle, the way she talked with her hands, recognized _something_ and at least been confused.

It was nice to resolve that "relationship" without having to actually _do_ anything.

* * *

The thing he'd ordered from Germany came in on a salon day, one of those stupid coincidences you're only supposed to get in bad porn (wait, happy birthday? How the hell was it August already?).

She didn't get it at first, what came out of the bubble-wrap seemed to just be a tangle of black latex straps and...okay, at least one dildo, interesting.

Oh. A latex bikini, nice and tight, intimidatingly tight, he assured her, but that wasn't the good part. The good part was how the cups had little latex nubs right where her nipples would be, and the bottom had matching nubs where her clit was, and was a backwards strap-on harness: it would hold the dildo and its matching (and big) plug in her.

He let her check it out while he unboxed something else, small and shiny. Ridiculously, the whole thing was done up in a brightly colored orange-and-red flame design. Humiliating and yet kind of awesome, just the thing to mess with her.

What did Viktor have? Little padlocks. Ooooooh _fuck_. This was going to get interesting.

Did she wish to try it out? Oh hell yes.

An hour session ought to be a good start, for one such as her. Why did she still get all blushy when he said stuff like that? You'd think she'd have gotten used to it by now.

Anyway, really, only an hour? Not more? He jangled the keys to the locks and set the big hourglass at the edge of the desk. She misunderstood, that hour need not be the _only_ hour. It was simply a start.

Well, an hour hadn't seemed like much to play with a toy like this when she was holding it in her hands, but when the dildo was in her ("Let us use only single penetration for the first session.") and the cups were squeezing her breasts and the nubs were being...nubbly...that hour started seeming kind of long.

Not bad long, mind you, just, intimidating long. What was her body going to actually _do_ with this? She spent a lot of time when she masturbated barely touching or not touching, because she'd get sensitive after cumming. She always had, the transformation had just magnified the effect, and now...well, this thing was going get her off, no question, it felt awesome, the nubs slipping and sliding over her sensitive bits like little fingers. It was going to get her off, and she wasn't going to even start trying to make it not - that was what it meant that controlling herself took strategy now, she could pick what kind of situations to put herself in, she still had her mind, but she had _no_ willpower, everything just felt too good and once she was in a situation she was going to take whatever the path of maximum lust was. So this thing was going to get her off, and she was going to get all sensitive, and there was going to be no escape. 

Fuuuck. Viktor clicked the locks shut. That was the other trick with situations like this: yes, she could safeword or just ask to be let out, but she wasn't going to, because then she wouldn't be feeling what she was feeling right now.

She hadn't really understood their relationship until that moment, not really. She'd handed him the keys, that day, made sure he understood she consented to a proper D/S relationship and not just whatever their arrangement had been, but he hadn't _seemed_ to take the bait.

Emphasis on _seemed_. But Viktor wasn't just into 'kids', he was into messing with people's heads and controlling their minds. She'd filed that under the stuff they'd been playing with with his super-hypnotism thing, but he didn't need that at all, not with her. She had to use strategy to control herself now, but you could look at that another way: he could use strategy to control her, too.

And Viktor, he was pretty good with strategy. She hadn't had a choice about this thing, she was going to end up here, having _asked_ to be locked into this thing, from the moment he picked up the phone after she'd tried on the thong.

Fuck, Viktor.

How was she? It took her a second to process his voice. She was...she couldn't move. Well, she could, but then she'd cum, and fall down. It was the thong times a million billion. Just breathing made the dildo move inside her - it hadn't looked big in comparison to Viktor's cock, but yeah, it filled her pretty good - and the nubs drag across her clit, and the cups slip and slide on her breasts, torturing her nipples gloriously (the whole thing was lubed up, of course - she'd offered her own juice, of which there was already plenty now, but he pointed out it needed to be something that wouldn't dry where the air struck it and had produced a bottle that looked like something from a back shelf of Frankenstein's lab but contained what was apparently pure distilled Slippery).

 _Breathing_ was going to make her cum. Drowning in a lake of that soft embarrassment: could you sum her up any more succinctly?

She couldn't even talk, she didn't think, but she smiled the most lustful smile she could manage, and he quirked his lips in response, a face-splitting grin for Viktor. Perhaps she would like to work on a bit of her translation work? Or simply do some recreational reading? Her hands would be more free, now.

Oh my fuck Viktor you are a fucking genius and I need to kiss you. She jumped him, and yes, moving made her cum, and she would have fallen down but instead she was hanging off him, legs wrapped around him, and her kiss of thanks turned into a long, long makeout session as she ground her whole body into him, getting fucked by the dildo and teased by the nubs as she came and came, screaming into their kiss - orgasms had been getting longer lately as she learned to ride their wave instead of freaking out at the intensity. He held her through all of it, kissing back with the passion his face never showed, big hands gripping her tight, one under her ass (pinky tantalizingly near her asshole), one around her middle, fingers cuddled up right under where the tightness of the top held her breast out from her body, and then finally it was over and she breathed a sigh of satisfied re...

Oh god oh fuck too sensitive she couldn't handle fuck oh god have to get out of this! Fuck, her hands wouldn't work right, even if they would Viktor was still holding her and she could only free one well okay she could free one and try to catch her writhing shuddering body as it tried to escape from the nubs and tightness but of course the thing had extra straps set up to keep her from doing this exact thing and all she could do was make the nubs dig at her even more. Fuck, should she safeword, could she safeword?

"Do you wish to be freed?"

He'd laid her on the bed, held down with his body creatively pinning her limbs, and was buckling her into the cuffs that never managed to get put away, leaving her spread-eagled and struggling uselessly, her hips bucking counter-productively at the sensation they couldn't escape.

"N...no!" WHAT THE FUCK WHY DID SHE SAY THAT. Tears blurred her vision, and he smiled.

"Very well. You know your safewords."

Yes but apparently she was too much of a slut to use them fuck this wasn't...she couldn't stop herself straining against the restraints, trying to escape the sensation that would just follow her anyway. At least the dildo still felt good. She focused on that, all she could really control was that at this point, and then...

"Yell.."

Her lips were already forming the words, silently because she couldn't get her voice working, but Viktor missed it and that was the best missed half-safeword of her life, because having to try again gave her time to notice that she was going to cum again, despite everything, despite the intensity and over-stimulation, and that same slutty mind that got her into this miss _had to know what that would be like_ and then there was nothing for it, she wasn't even sure if she was trying to escape the intensity as she thrashed or trying to cum more effectively. 

She would have been terrified, was terrified, it could have been a lot worse but Viktor was sitting there, watching intently with the EMT shears sticking out of his front pocket, expression saying he knew exactly where this was headed.

She was going to cum again, come on, cum again, ouch oh god no please cum again just get the angle RIGHT--

Gasping, heart pounding, eyes wouldn't focus, the only time she'd cum this hard was when she'd passed out that first day, but she didn't pass out, she just came and came and then it was over and the sensitivity was back and she was going to go again because she had to feel that again there was no choice and then oh fucking FUCK the next orgasm was even more intense and it didn't take as long to get there and then Viktor was showing her the empty hourglass and she was shaking her head and trying to beg and thank God he got it she would have died if she didn't get the next one of these and the next and then she finished cumming except not because this time it took no time at all to get there all and then she went straight from the end of that one into the next one without even stopping and oooohohoh fuck she wasn't _going_ to stop, she'd just cum forever and ever, and then _that_ was over and she was...what?

Pounding, throbbing, gasping, definitely cumming, no question, but it wasn't the mind shattering explosion, it was the tapering-off tail end, except it wasn't tapering off, it was like she was sitting on some mountain peak at the edge of space, like the orgasm was a place she could be instead of thing she did, a slippery unstable place but those choiceless slutty instincts that had brought her here knew just how to keep her there, and there she was going to stay.

But she was calming, a little. There were ways she had to move, but she didn't have to thrash. The pleasure of this would wash over her, a breath or a motion would turn the almost-orgasm into an actual orgasm for a few moments and she be lost in her own moans, but she mostly had it together. Viktor unclipped her, leaving the cuffs on her limbs but setting her free, and her hands went to her breasts, her cunt, pushing and pulling at the latex, giving herself things she hadn't been able to with writhing alone, caressing bare skin that ached for touch. After a while, she had it together enough to talk.

"What...is...oooh oh god...what is this?" She was hairtrigger, a swimmer in a glorious stormy sea, waves drowning her in lust at intervals, a raging fire bursting high at the slightest provocation. She couldn't get through the sentence without the vibration of her own voice sending her over the edge for a moment and when she did get words out they cooed and moaned with the pleasure of what was happening to her, she could only take the deep slow-gasping breaths of hottest lust, it had been weeks since her body wasn't drawn by the gravity of what would feel sexiest but now getting any particular movement was like being a swimmer on that sea, like herding fire.

"Continuous orgasm, exactly as it seems. Since your transformation, you've exhibited many types of feminine sexual response and capability which are, as I'm sure you know, semi-mythical at best."

She was - oh fuck oh my GOD - she had kind of felt like she'd beeeen turning into a - ungh - porn character, the way this...body...worked...oooooh...

"The relationship between human identity and body is complex, far more so than for my kind whose bodies are simply reflections of our souls. Nectar, as you know, is that power, made liquid. It transforms your body to be the physical reflection of your best self, which in your view is to be the perfect slut, pleasing, pleased, and free - not, obviously, of my control, but of your own inhibitions. Much of this is inherent: your new sensitivity, your endless capacity for lust, your very pleasantly idealized appearance, your unique relationship to self-control. Yet, as sentient beings, we have the capacity to seek more, to find images or ideas we wish to embody, and you have done so, seeking out the image of what you believe you are in this world's sadly limited canon of sexual fiction. What you have found, you have made a part of yourself. This I think you know, but it is the power of nectar to bring to your body what you adopt into your soul, and so you have gained the mythical powers of the women to whom you pleasure yourself, this being one of the more famous. It is often induced by my kind via supernatural means, but you have acquired the ability to achieve it with only your own body and mundane toys."

She almost had it together enough to sit up. Could you cum and sit up at the same time? She was going to find out, because it was on the way to kissing Viktor, which she was going to do in a moment.

"It will continue, your body developing to match your soul, for as long as you continue to partake of my nectar and discover new horizons. We have much to discover, and much to enjoy."

Oh god. Viktor...Pandemonium was heaven, there was no question from his descriptions, but this, this was heaven right here, she didn't need to go anywhere at all.

Kiss him. In a moment. If what he said was true, well. "Oh my fuck, give...nn...give me sooome." Oh, oh, oh god. She thought the smile would split her face in half, but she was actually that happy. "Give me some fucking nectar and. And a. A fucking... Boook oh fuck."

He laughed. "Gladly. Onto your hands and knees, if you are capable."

But...oh. Her pussy was full, but, without the butt-plug installed there was a hole, a long split, in the ass of the bikini, in just the right spot.

The thought made her cum harder and fall back to the bed, a big one this time, but she got back up and presented her ass and he slid fingers that felt like pouring gas into the heart of a fire between the bikini and her cunt, lubing himself up with the overflow of her lust and then he was in her and you'd better believe she came from _that_ and kept cumming and felt weird because the movements she even _could_ control were sort of slow and weak but then that made sense too, if you were a slut and a porn character weren't you supposed to just melt into a submissive little puddle when you were getting fucked in the ass? 

And he fucked her and was a...a...was just a massive cock inside her there was no metaphor anymore and then there was no thought just something hot spreading through her insides and she was refreshed like she always was after getting some nectar and she had the energy to _pound_ and properly get drilled because he always did respond in kind to her enthusiasm and always did stay hard forever afterwards and so she pounded and pounded getting herself a proper satisfying mind-erasing ass-fucking and then she was still, panting, little and big orgasms echoing off his cock still inside her, and she let out a disappointed whine as he left but then the whine got her onto an edge she wanted to jump off and became a moan as a wave washed over her--

Something hard and square, pressed into her hands. A book, Oroborus' Tail, ooh fuck this one was intense, especially the beginning unh yes the best part really. She realized she'd turned over onto her back, which was what let Viktor hand her the book. She scrunched upright against the pillows - only had to stop for five or six orgasms on the way, moving around when she was like this was intense - so that she could see to read over her tits, and cracked the book open to page one, and...oh god, yes...no!

She could...she couldn't...could...she couldn't focus enough to read Infernal! NO! This story was so perfect for this, and, and, and cumming every time she managed to tease out enough of a sentence to know how hot it was sure wasn't _bad_ but she really did want to read like this, to ride the story like a wave, and she...

And then Viktor climbed into the bed with her, and cradled her, and read to her in his deep, thick voice that seemed to have been born to pronounce the Infernal syllables like the sound of it was nectar she could lick up, and she lay there in his arms, riding the waves and the story and the fire between her legs and in her heart and wrapped around her stroking her hair and face affectionately and kissing her with a nectary sustaining kiss on the lips whenever it seemed like the lust would tear her apart, or reaching down to enjoy a breast or press between her legs to move the dildo inside her at good parts and he read her the whole book, all the way through to Oroborus' "death" at her master's hands and her new incubation and rebirth, ready to begin the cycle again as someone new, ready to discover herself and be discovered, new, again...

* * *

That had been the night they realized what they'd built had become self-sustaining, because they'd both missed the salon only to find from posts to the BBS the next day that it had gone off without a hitch, the dungeon had been cleaned and put in order by the volunteer monitors after play hours ended, and the front door they'd been too distracted to lock had been bolted tight as the last people left.

They found it out sitting together in front of the computer--Viktor's lap was always a good place to sit for checking the BBS in the "morning"--after she'd slept the day away and collected all the pieces of her mind from the four corners of the earth. People asked about them, in public and private messages that hoped they'd just "gotten busy in the back room". They _cared,_ Cheryl suddenly understood with tears in her eyes. Not just about El Dorado, or the salon, but her and Viktor. They had _friends,_ the first actual ones she'd had since...since Angelique when they were fourteen. 

No, not just friends, a whole community. When did that happen?

"Under our noses, as we encouraged the flourishing of others in those areas dear to ourselves, I suppose," was VIktor's reply.

Cheryl waited, to see if Viktor would acknowledge what it meant. He didn't, so she did:

"This is the beginning. Of your 'revenge'. These people aren't isolated anymore, and they know they're not sick. None of them will end up like your incubator. And--"

Did she dare it? They both knew the issue. A guy like Viktor couldn't possibly be unaware of his own baggage to that extent. She dared it:

"--and they like _you_. I think you have real friends here."

Viktor looked solemn as always, but not dark. She couldn't tell if he was being dour because he was upset or just fucking with her, which always meant she...had no fucking clue which it was.

His voice was as complicated as his scent when he finally answered.

"A year ago, I should perhaps have protested zis claim, in favor of their preferring you and accepting my company as given. In that time, you have proven to me otherwise, and I think now that this is the true quote-unquote 'revenge'. We are not the only such community. Some have preceeded us by decades, and though I have alwace known this I now understand that it doce nothing to render our own efforts futile or redundant...and yet, I see also, zat though this is true, it has also never been the point of my sojourn here on Earth to accomplish any revenge other than that which you have just described."

"You know well now zat our people are the source of many myths regarding the sacredness of mirrors. You have provided me one I think I could have obtained no other way, and for zat I am unspeakably grateful. You have already my undying love and admiration. How else may I repay you?"

That went okay. Did she dare _this_?

Hell yes. It was time. It was way the fuck past time, and they both knew it.

She drew herself up, put her tits out, hoped the screen would catch their reflection. 

"You can finally fucking collar me."

Viktor laughed, warm, and she was glad she knew him well enough to know he wasn't laughing _at_ her--and that this was lots more intimate than seeing him with his pants down.

"And so you show me yet another otherwise-unobtainable mirror," he smirked. "Very well, but know I will require another level of obedience from you than zat which we now practice. I can be... _exacting_."

Cheryl wiggled her bare ass further into his lap and onto his hardening cock, and twisted around to look at him to answer.

"It's about fucking time."

**Author's Note:**

> I grew up in the 1990s, with Literotica and newsgroups like alt.sex.bondage as my main sources of inspiration and sexual education. This story is my paean to those sources, and my imagining of what came before them. If you're one of the people who had the courage to run one of those early sites, thank you, for making my adolescence just a little bit less confusing than it might have been.


End file.
